


Childhood Always Possesses

by DarnGoshit



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Death, F/M, Fluff, Meh, Minor Tuckington, Minor Tuckington???, Other, all of the freelancers are dead?, but not really?, hahaha, i didnt realize until way to late, its both!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2020-12-07 13:24:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 24,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20976599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarnGoshit/pseuds/DarnGoshit
Summary: Freelancer was supposed to stay locked away, but that’s a little hard when your long dead ‘friends’ start showing up.





	1. Chapter 1

“Agent York.”

“A—allison. Where’s Allison?”

“She made it out of the situation, Agent York.”

“Good. That’s— _ What are you doing talking to me?” _

“Ah. I am simply… doing a favor.”

“Knowing you, Counselor, that’s a lie. Did you finally get an excuse to run your ‘experiments’ again?”

“Your concern is understood, Agent York, but it is  _ most _ unnecessary.”

“Says the person who tortured an A.I. unit just to screw around in the heads of a bunch o—”

“There is no need to act in such a childish manner, Agent York. You are not here for an A.I. implantation.”

“Then let’s cut to the mature stuff. What do you want?”

“For you to see Agent Carolina and Agent Washington again.”

“I…… Come again?”

“We know how much you wanted to see Agent Carolina again, so we have made… _arrangements_.”

“May I ask why, Counselor?”

“Please, Agent York. Call me Price, or even Aiden.”

“No thanks,  _ Counselor _ . Now tell me why.”

“Agent York, do you know the date?”

“Not the— _ holy shit.  _ It’s been… years.”

“Yes, Agent York. And your death affected many.”

“...Carolina?”

“Yes. In fact, Agent Carolina was one of the most… emotionally affected. We are prepared to drop you at her coordinates.”

“One, that is hella creepy, Counselor. Two, no thanks. Just give me a vehicle and tell me her coordinates. I need to stop somewhere first.”

“Very well, Agent York.”

“Is there  _ anything else  _ I can do for you, Counselor?”

“Actually, Agent York, there is one more thing.”

“Heh. Of course there is.”

“When you see Agent Washington, tell him that more keys will come.”

“...Just get me a bike.”

  
  


York was surprised when he came to his place of death.

Others had been there. Taken things. Things like Delta. Things like the lighter. 

Apparently, things like him.

He sighed. What was he doing?

Really, what should he have expected? It had been years, after all.

He climbed onto his space bike like thing. This was definitely the  _ weirdest  _ road trip he’d ever been on. No contest. Revving the bike, he pushed the thoughts away. He was going to see Carolina again.

  
  


Despite all his efforts, when York saw her, he wasn’t ready.

His breath short circuited, his heart rang out so loud and hard that he thought if he placed a hand on his wrist he would feel a pulse. And that was  _ through  _ the armor.

He scampered into a bush, not wanting to get shot at before they could talk. After, sure. But not before. He inched forward.

Wash was next to her, helmet off, gun in hand. York flinched when he saw Wash’s implant site. It looked bad.

Carolina had cut her hair shorter, and her gun was strapped to her back, stance relaxed.

Then he remembered her beating him hundreds of times in hand to hand.

Okay, maybe not too relaxed.

He inched forward.

Carolina and Wash had their backs facing him, and they were talking to two people he didn’t recognize. One of them was a tall, skinny man. He was the one talking. Next to him, a strongly built guy with a ponytail of dreadlocks stood, looking amused.

A few seconds after the tall one had stopped talking, amused had stopped looking so amused.

He grabbed tall by his arm and walked off. The opposite direction from York, thankfully.

York kept to the side for a long time, the bushes keeping him from being seen.

Well, kind of. He was sure that if anyone had been facing him, they would spot him.

He crawled closer, pausing once he was in earshot.

“—beard, Wash!”

“It’s gone, Carolina. It can’t hurt you anymore,” Wash said playfully, and York blinked.

They were friends? Wow. He had been dead for a long time.

“It haunts me in my dreams, along with images of Grif’s relaxation techniques.”

He didn’t know who Grif was, but the relaxing part made sense. 

York weighed his options as Wash let out a small laugh. It was now or never.

He stood up, dropped his gun, and raised his arms.

“Don’t shoot!”

Wash and Carolina’s guns were pointed at him very quickly. Wash’s helmet had somehow gotten on. His form was better.

“ _ On your fucking knees,”  _ Carolina said slowly, hate etched across her face. Weirdly enough, he’d missed that expression, too.

York fell to his knees, keeping his hands in sight.

Carolina and Wash walked forward. Wash kicked his gun away from him.

“I like your hair.”

“You don’t get to fucking speak, dead-man.”

Carolina picked him up by his chest plate and threw him back. As she walked to him determinedly, York scampered backwards. This wouldn’t end well.

She started running at him, and York knew he was in trouble. He had only seen that look  _ once. _

York rolled, hoping to get away, but she placed a knee into his back, grabbing his arms. 

As she pulled his wrists back, she spoke to Wash. “Take his helmet off.”

Wash didn’t respond out loud, but he made enough noise for York to get he was doing as she said. 

York realized that his helmet was the only thing keeping his face from smashing into the dirt.

_ Fuck. _

Wash took off his helmet, and his face smashed into the ground.

“The hell?” Carolina said.

“Nice to see you too, babe.” He didn’t want to swallow a worm, but he still had to be himself.

“Oh, get up,” Carolina said, letting his arms go and standing up. 

“_Gladly.” _He shifted into a pushup position, before jumping to his feet. Once he had gotten up, Carolina tilted her head.

“Wash, you’re not allowed to carry him.”

Wash nodded a little. His armor was darker than how York remembered, and the accents were in different places. Carolina’s hadn’t changed, from what he could see.

“Fair enough.”

“Wait, what do you mean— _ Fuck!”  _ Carolina had kneed him the crotch. Hard. It reminded him a little of Tex. “I—I deserved that, didn’t I?”

She picked him up by his breast plate and kissed him, and _God, _he _never_ thought that Carolina would do that _ever_ again.

Not to him, anyway.

(Even with what little hope he’d had that she was still alive.)

“And that,” she said, before dropping him.

Wash and Carolina started walking toward a pair of weird looking bases. He hoped it was comfortable on the inside. Years of theft and moving around had once driven bothering with comfort out of his mind in favor of safety, but, well, fresh start. Right?

“Inside, now. And don’t let any of them see you.”


	2. Chapter 2

When York finally got inside the base Wash and Carolina had entered, Carolina shoved him into what seemed to be part of the barracks. Wash was already waiting inside the room.

“Be quiet!” Carolina whispered sharply when York yelped the tiniest bit.

What? He didn’t yelp that much. He didn’t.

“Why? Who can’t know I’m here?” York’s mind was already racing. Was someone after them?

“The re—” Wash stopped. “The simulation troopers.”

York started. Simulation troopers? There was almost no chance a team of simulation troopers could take even one of them.

Well, there was a higher chance with Wash, but it was still pretty low.

“Why would we hide from simulation troopers?” He was looking around the room. It didn’t hold much.

There were a few shelves on one side, that held a mixture of items: books, a macaroni art project (to York’s best guess), and a small box, just to name a few. He spotted a second door he figured was either for a closet or a bathroom. There was only one bed, and it was made military perfect. It reminded him of basic, and the few times he had seen Carolina’s dorm back at Freelancer.

He glanced at the foot locker that laid neatly closed at the end of the bed. The label on the side was drawn in in alternating yellow and black letters messily, unlike everything else in the room.

Wash.

God, how much was out of whack on this moon.

“They aren’t a threat,” Carolina said. “We just… don’t want to create a hassle. We’re supposed to be on vacation.”

Vacation? Carolina hated vacation. Whenever they weren’t scheduled for the training room and there were no upcoming missions, she barely left her room. Connie always said that she was still training, and while her muscles were hot, it got… frustrating when she would keep working out after she fell asleep during a push-up.

“You’re on vacation? On a moon?” York asked, and he saw Wash’s chest twitch. He was trying not to laugh.

“Yeah, that’s what happens when you stop a whole population from killing themselves in a planetary genocide scheme,” Carolina deadpanned. He hoped she was joking, and knew she wasn’t.

“That must be a story.”

“Indeed.”

Wash sighed and took off his helmet, and York couldn’t resist it. He whistled.

“Jesus Christ, Wash. What happened to you?” His face was scarred as hell; his hair was still bleached, but now only partly, and the natural hair showed streaks of gray. The little baby fat that had still been on his face before seemed to have inverted. They were bags under his eyes, but the eyes themselves showed he had seen worse days.

“Freelancer affected all of us. I got a team.” Okay. York was absolutely certain that he had just figured out the Counselor’s experiment. Put him in a coma and make him go through the weirdest of situations. There was no way that Wash led a team.

“I win!” York jumped. Tall was back. How the hell had he— “You are not very good at this game.”

Wash and Carolina shared a look and York was reminded that it really had been years. He’d missed them. In both senses of the word.

“What did you win, Caboose?”

“The game of hide and seek. Stupid Tucker thought he was better then me.”

York assumed that Tucker was the one he had seen earlier, the one he’d dubbed “amused.”

“Caboose, that’s great. You won! Now, can you ju—”

Apparently, Caboose wasn’t too keen on listening when it came to beating Tucker.

“Tucker! I won!” Caboose yelled, and York almost covered his ears.

But he didn’t, ‘cause he was chill. Or at least he thought he was.

“Awesome, Caboose! Keep on screaming, bow-chicka-wow-wow.”

Of all the sim-troopers, did they have to find these two? York could already feel a headache coming on.

“Okay, Tucker! What do you want me to say?”

Wash looked exasperated. Carolina looked slightly amused.

“Caboose, why d—“

“What are they talking about?” Tucker (presumably) shouted.

“I do not know! Probably the other person!”

“Caboose!” Wash said sharply, but Tucker already heard. The other man he had seen earlier came swinging into the open doorway, a confused look on his face.

“Caboose, what other… oh.” Tucker stared at him. “Who the fuck are you?”

York rolled his eyes, but Wash answered for him. “Tucker, this Agent York… the freelancer.” 

Tucker’s eyes widened.

“Oh! Like the one Agent Carolina and Agent Washington talk about at night!”

It was silent for a moment.

“So,” Tucker said. “How many freelancers actually died? Because if the Meta shows up, I’m bailing.”

York gave him a look.

“Meta? Our names came from the United States, and I’ve never heard of the state of ‘Meta’.” Wash and Carolina shared a look, and York felt a small pain in his chest.

“Maine, but Sigma-fied,” Wash explained.

Not a pretty image, York decided. He remembered the Meta-stability phase. It hadn’t sounded too enticing.

“Gotcha.”

“So,” Tucker said, walking into the room. “Why were you hiding?”

York was surprised it was Wash, and not Carolina, who answered.

“Why weren’t you doing your drills?”

What? Wash hated drills. He put more effort into dodging them than doing them would take!

“I heard the sound of fighting.” That… was one of the lamest excuses York had ever heard. And he knew Wash. 

Well… he thought he knew Wash.

“Caboose…”

“Tucker did it!” Caboose had been trying to get what looked like a stuffed dog down from a shelf. York wondered if he would have to hear a ton of ‘Tucker did it’s if he tried to accuse Caboose of anything.

Oh, he hoped not.

“What? I didn’t! Wash, you were watching me, (bow-chicka-bow-wow) I didn’t do anything!”

“Please, you two! Get back to drills. I’ll explain later.”

Tucker groaned and started to drag Caboose out, muttering about paranoid secretive something or others. York stopped them with a laugh.

“What?” Tucker asked.

“You—you actually listen to him?” York asked, trying to sober up.

“What do you mean?” Tucker looked confused.

“You take orders from Wash?”

Tucker repeated himself, frustratedly, “What do you mean?”

“Tucker,” Wash barked, annoyance on his face. “Drills. Now.”

“Buzzkill,” Tucker muttered, and left.

That was when York remembered what the Counselor had said.

“Oh, Wash, the Counselor, he resurrected me, he said to give you a message.”

“Shit. Go ahead.” Wash looked tired, but York ignored this.

“He said more keys will come.”

Wash groaned.

“Fuck. My. Life.”


	3. Chapter 3

Wash was  _ tired _ .

He was physically tired, he was tired of Freelancer, and he was tired of the fucking Counselor.

When he saw a dead man's armor, he had wanted to sigh.

When he learned it was a resurrected dead man's armor, with said resurrected dead man in it, he could feel his eye bags multiply.

When said resurrected dead man told him more dead friends would be resurrected and brought to him, he had finally snapped.

Which brings us to the present.

“Fuck. My. Life.”

York chuckled.“Why? Do you hate keys or something?”

Carolina sighed.

“Memories,” she corrected. She looked tired too. “More  _ memories  _ are coming.”

Wash sighed in turn. 

“Well, come on. Tucker will make dinner soon. You need a room.”

York was slightly worried about a sim trooper who made  _ sex jokes  _ making his food, but he didn’t say anything.

They arrived in a room that had two bunk beds. They looked as militaristically worn out as everything on the base had, and he wondered how it had been sold as a vacation spot.

“We can move another bed in here, if needed, but we are not letting Wyoming and Florida have free reign,” Wash spoke to Carolina, who nodded understandingly. York could only feel this as karma for treating Wash… like Wash.

She frowned. “Where would we put them? My bunk? Would I have to move in with the reds permanently?”

“No, I think the attic would work.”

“Great,” Carolina said, turning to him. “Get settled. Wash and I will tell the r—  _ simulation troopers _ that you are here, and we are expecting more. We’ll alert you when dinner is ready.”

As Carolina and Wash left, York thought about how light Carolina’s voice had sounded. She was happy here. Sure, it sounded a bit tired, probably prompted by York, but happy. No uncaring father with impossible standards to send her spiraling, no leaderboard to push her competitiveness beyond safety…

No Tex…

He chose a lower bunk, laying down and realizing just how sleep deprived he was.

York hadn’t slept in a prepared bed since freelancer. He hadn’t eaten prepared food since a little later. 

York thought that maybe, just maybe, he could stay here. They wouldn’t get torn apart again. He could finally start a life with Carolina. He could finally start a  _ life.  _ Away from Freelancer. Away from starvation by more than a meal. Away from fighting to survive.

He’d tried before, but maybe this time it could actually work.

He folded his arms behind his head, and didn’t let himself flinch at the cold where Delta should be humming.

  
  


“So, what’s up?” Tucker asked as soon as Wash and Carolina turned the corner from Wash’s room.

“You’re supposed to be running drills.” Wash had his arms crossed in  _ milliseconds. _

“Got bored with only Caboose as company. Besides, you two are where all the fun is at.” He grinned, waggling his eyebrows. Wash sighed.

“Come on. We have to tell the reds too. And Caboose.”

They had gathered them all gathered in the mess hall in about twenty minutes. Quite the feat, in Wash’s expert opinion.

“Alright, here’s the deal.” He glanced around, making sure no interruptions would occur.

“Y’all remember Freelancer, right? We were all named after old U.S. states: Carolina, Washington, Maine, Texas… so on. After the Project, most of Carolina’s and my team got killed. One of those being being Agent New York, or York.”

“Why do I have the feeling he didn’t stay dead?” Simmons muttered.

“Because you’re right. Recently, the Director’s right hand, the Counselor, aka Aiden Price, resurrected York. He sent York here, with the message that more of them are going to arrive soon. 

“So now, York is in the spare room doing who knows what, and will be joining us for dinner, so please, I beg of you,  _ behave. _ ”

“Entonces suplica,” Lopez said. It sounded like witty comeback, but because it was incomprehensible, he won through the power of ignorance. 

It was an hour and a half before dinner was ready and the Reds and Blues were gathered again.

Reds and blues and…  _ neutral color. _

York was mildly surprised when he saw Tucker had made actual food out of rations. He then chuckled to himself when he saw that Carolina’s was more carefully prepared than the rest of them. York silently gasped when he saw that Wash had a _different meal._

He didn’t say anything until a few minutes in, figuring that someone else would point it out. Apparently, they weren’t very observant.

“Wash, why do you have a different meal?”

Wash looked up, apparently surprised. He opened his mouth to answer, but the man across from him beat him to the punch.

“Because Tucker loves him more.” Wash blushed a little, but York didn’t really see it. The man that had spoken was a bit of a Frankenstein’s monster, with a mixture of dark brown and pale skin, held together by scar tissue. York wondered what kind of accident had caused that. And what kind of doctor had gotten sued for malpractice over it.

“That isn’t true!” Wash defended, his neck slowly turning pink.

The redhead that sat next to two skinned man snorted. He had a metal eye, and a few other visible cyborg parts. He realized that the metal parts mirrored the lighter parts on the two skinned man, and figured that Cyborg was a donor.

“It isn’t. It’s that Tucker usually makes things I can’t eat.” Bullshit, York thought. Wash used to be the one they gave all their extra food too. He would eat almost anything.

“Or don’t want to eat,” Cyborg muttered, and Wash frowned. The blush on his neck was spreading up and across his face.

“I don’t get a say in this?” Tucker asked, and it sounded like he was trying not to laugh. Looked like it too.

“No! The enemy doesn’t ever get a say!” He had already pegged that one as the red sergeant. They had  _ called  _ him Sarge, and he was wearing only red, so York was pretty sure.

“Wait, I thought you guys knew that the war wasn’t real?” It was a question that had been bugging York since he sat down. They weren’t shooting at each other, but they didn’t seem to be completely on the same side.

“Oh, we do. But we fought the war for years, and some of us… got attached.” The two skinned guy jerked his head towards the sergeant, and York nodded. He still went by York, didn’t he?

But that was different. The kid that had gotten picked up and given a code name that seemed like a joke… he was a different person.

“So, if he’s the leader of the red team, who’s the leader of the blue team?” He had guessed it was Carolina, but small talk was important. And she’d kind of implied she spent time over at Red Base.

“Wash is,” Cyborg answered. York started.

“Wash?” York repeated. There was  _ no way.  _ Sure, he could give orders, but lead a team?

He guessed they were better actors than he thought. ‘Play-a-joke-on-the-new-guy’ was pretty old, but none of them were even giving small tells.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” two skinned said and York thought he was about to say how outrageous it was, but no. “We used to be just two teams of idiots, but now, we’re two teams of idiots where the worse one has a badass leader!”

York blinked slowly. Badass leader. Wash.

Guess they weren’t good actors after all.

“Dude? You okay?” Tucker didn’t sound sincere. He looked like he wanted to laugh. Or maybe that was just his natural face?

“Sorry, it’s just… Wash? Really?” It just didn’t fit. Eats food inside his helmet, Wash. A badass leader.

“Yes, Wash.” Tucker still looked like he was trying not to laugh. “Who else?”

“Carolina.” The answer came out so quickly. He didn’t hesitate. Carolina was the leader. Carolina was the best.

Well, until Allison.

“Yeah. Like they were going to let her lead after the impression she made.” It was the two skinned man. York sighed.

“It’s okay, York,” Carolina said. “Wash is good at leading. And I  _ did  _ make a pretty bad impression.”

“Yeah, like Wash was any better! He apparently shot someone who they were  _ supposed  _ to help!” Tucker exclaimed, clearly trying to get Carolina to chill.  _ What? _

“I told you, she shot me in the back first!”

_ What? _

“Oh, I remember her. Yeah, she was scary.” Okay, if Caboose knew, York had to.

“What?” Ah, always quick-tongued, Agent York.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I was going through a rough time.” Wash tried to wave it away, but they wouldn’t let him.

“Yeah, right! You blew her up!” Wash sighed.

“She was already dead. It was a precaution.”

“Pretty spiteful precaution.”

York couldn’t take how much information they just seemed to know.

“Who?” York asked, and Wash shut his mouth tight. Tucker didn’t answer. Caboose, apparently, did not know about the secret.

“The purple lady. She was scary.”

York started.  _ No way. _ “South?” 

Wash nodded, only a little. He looked guilty, but not as if he had killed someone in cold blood guilty. “It… it was a long time ago. She probably would’ve killed me if I hadn’t.” 

York could barely believe it. Washington and  _ South _ . There were a lot of lines that they had crossed in the days after the Project, but… there was a part of him that still couldn’t believe they would get to the point where it was kill or be killed with each other. Even if  _ his _ murderer was Wyoming.

Besides, Wash always seemed… untouchable. The Project basically brainwashed them, but Wash still laughed like he wasn’t constantly on the front lines of whatever it was they did.

He saw now that he was wrong, but he could still be stubborn.

“You realize you’re probably going to have to talk to her again?” York asked. Wash sighed before nodding.

“And Maine. Let’s hope he doesn’t remember the Meta.” He shivered, and York frowned.

“The Meta? You said earlier but—” 

“Sigma-fied Maine.”

It was a small part of him, but it was still there. Saying that he was relieved. Saying that it  _ could _ have been Carolina.

A part he had tried to ignore earlier.

But would that be better than watching her be dropped from a cliff? Grappling with her death for years?

At least she didn’t suffer. At least he could think it was quick.

But no. She survived. She had been alive the whole time.

He had never been so happy about being wrong.

“I think Wyoming is going to be the toughest to deal with,” York said, pushing out his thoughts.

“Or Florida,” Carolina responded.

“Hey, wait. Carolina, wasn’t there someone you wanted to introduce York too?” Wash asked pointedly, and Carolina grinned, turning to the red team.

“Hey, aren’t you guys  _ missing  _ someone?” Carolina asked, and Cyborg looked at her confusedly.

“Who? Oh. Wait. You mean…” Cyborg grinned. “I’ll go get him. He’s probably meditating.”

York smiled a little. Meditating. 

He remembered Florida teaching him how to meditate. It was nice. Probably his fondest memory of him. Probably York’s  _ only  _ fond memory of him.

He had slightly higher hopes for this one.

Cyborg (he should probably ask names soon) came back in with a grinning, freckled man. He had a nasty scar that covered over a quarter of his face.

“York,” Carolina started. “ _ This _ is Donut.”

The scarred man grinned. “Well, aren't you a big ol’ hunk of muscle! I’d  _ love  _ to have you over me—Er, over to see me!” 

York blinked. Consider his hopes gone. Again.

He sat down, spinning and grabbing a plate in the process.

“Uh, nice to meet you too, Donut.” He paused. “Maybe now is a good time to ask what _all_ of your names are.”

“Oh! Of course,” Donut said, and York  _ really  _ wanted to wince. “That’s Simmons,” Cyborg, “Grif,” Two-skinned, “Sarge, Tucker, and Caboose!” He paused. “And of course you’ve already gotten friendly with Wash and Carolina!”

Okay. Maybe he’s just always like this.

Oh, nope. That was worse. Way worse.

“Got it.” Maybe he was finally going to get some answers. “And you’re all just self-aware sim troopers who made friends with freelancers?”

Bad phrasing, he knew.

“You could say that.” Tucker sounded bitter. He wondered why. Another time he would ask.

“Are you a donor?”

Simmons looked surprised by the sudden question. “No, I don’t have enough blood.”

“Not what I meant.” He kept his stare hard. Just as training said. North had always helped him with this.

“Oh.” Simmons took a second. “Oh! You meant, you meant the cyborg parts!” He seemed to totally change in mood. “We has to perform surgery on Grif because his body got so unhealthy it couldn’t function. I became a cyborg and he became half me.”

“Dude, I was run over. Multiple times.”

“So? You couldn’t function, could you?”

What the  _ hell  _ went on on this team?

Change direction. Keep being unpredictable.

“So, why is Wash your team leader?” 

Tucker let out a laugh. “Dude, this again? Why do you care so much?” 

York gestured at Wash desperately, completely forgoing his training. “It, it just makes no sense! Why would you make  _ Wash _ the team leader? He’s  _ terrible  _ in battle.” 

Wash made an indignant noise.

“Uh, Agent Washington is very good in battle. He beat the scary lady.” York sighed. This made no sense. 

“I miss D,” he muttered. 

The rest of the dinner was spent with small talk. Afterwards, York was led back to his room by Carolina.

That night, he didn’t dream. He woke up as if he had simply closed his eyes for a second.

He was surprised to find neatly folded clothes waiting for him. After changing, he went to open the curtain.

In the middle of the clearing, though, was a woman, turning in a slow circle. She had short hair, half shaved.

The woman was Agent fucking Connecticut.


	4. Chapter 4

“Ugh. What the fuck?”

“Agent Connecticut, hello.”

“What am I doing back here? What the fuck have you done with him?”

“He is dead.”

“What?”

“We did not kill your partner, Agent Connecticut. We were only recently informed of his status.”

“Okay. First question then.”

“We have… resurrected you.”

“Fuck. You. Counselor.”

“Then you won’t mind telling me the date?”

“Of course not. It’s—no way.”

“You have been deceased for a long time, Agent Connecticut. Currently, four other freelancers from your squad are alive. Only two have survived since Freelancer.”

“Wait, what? Two didn’t survive, but—”

“In our view, you haven’t survived either. But you are alive, are you not?”

“Okay. Who is alive? What happened?”

“Currently, Agents York and Maine have been resurrected.”

“And the other two?”

“Agents Washington and Carolina.”

“Wait, wait, that means… no. Not her.”

“We assume you are reacting to the death of Agent Texas.”

“But she’ll get resurrected too, right? You aren’t stopping at me?”

“We are going to continue resurrecting your fellow agents, but we have chosen to... allow Agent Texas to remain where she is, so to speak. Past efforts to change this have proven… ineffective.”

“But in the past you couldn’t do this!”

“It would only bring about pain, Agent Connecticut. Now, would you like to see your fellow agents again?”

“Go ahead and drop me on them.”

  
  


Wait, no. That sounded weird.

‘Hi, Maine! York! Carolina! Wash! So, I’m back, I see you’ve all settled. Are you two married yet? No? Ow! ‘Lina, don’t punch me! I just got this body!’

Definitely not.

“Twenty seconds until departure.”

Fuck. Great. Think faster, Connie.

‘Wa-ash! Buddy! How’s it going? Great! So, I was dead, yeah, but I’m not anymore, apparently. Ever get that A.I.?’

No.

“Ten seconds until departure.”

Shit. You know what? She’d wing it. Who cares if she saw old Wash and went, “Whoa, what happened to you?”

“Five seconds until departure.”

Was that a bad plan?

“Four. Three. Two. One.”

  
  
  


“Whoa.” She walked around in a circle, looking at the beautiful scenery, the large bases, the simulation troopers, the comfortable vacation vibe of it all. It was magnificent.

Wait, simulation troopers? What the hell? Did Wash and Carolina still use these guys? She’d thought that—hoped that—

Always hoped too much. That had gotten her killed before. She snorted. Literally.

“Tucker, I told you. Unless you want to end up defenseless on a moon with dinosaurs, I suggest you run the drills.”

“Caboose is friends with them! I’m fine!”

“Wasn’t Caboose also friends with the tank?”

A pause. Her eyes found the two sources of the voices. A black man in workout clothes facing her, the one protesting about running drills, and facing away from her…

Wash.

“Good poi—oh, you gotta be kidding me.”

The man had spotted her, but didn’t seem to be shocked. It made some sense, considering that York and Maine were already there. It also didn’t make much sense, considering she was ten feet away and he had just noticed her. The man pointed for Wash to turn around.

“No, Tucker.” Tucker. Seemed more like a first name. “I won’t turn around so you can run off.”

“I’m not kidding, dude. There is a chick behind you. In very familiar armor.” He raised his voice. “Weren’t you a dude the last time I met you?” Tucker paused. “I don’t mean that like that, even though I’d totally support you, but, uh…” He made a motion with his hand, going up and down. “You shrunk?” 

She let out a laugh, and Wash tensed, grabbing his gun and turning around swiftly. 

Damn, he had seen hell without her and made it through.

“Connie?” Wash asked, and she smiled. 

But damn, if she hadn’t been a friend, Wash would be fucking dead.

As they hugged, she heard someone run out the door.

“Wash, C…” York. Professional lock-pick who never managed to get it quite right. “Ah. She was quicker.”

“Bow-chicka-bow-wow.” CT bit her lip. He didn’t need to know that was a tiny bit funny. 

“Does that even count?” 

She didn’t catch Tucker’s answer, though, because Wash was leading her inside.

“Where’s Maine?” Wash stopped. She knew they had been close, but the Counselor said he had already been resurrected. “What? Hasn’t he come by?”

Wash seemed to force himself to relax, though only slightly. 

“Not that we know of. York was the first, and you’re second.” He took a breath, before smiling. “Come on, I’ll show you the room and then you can meet the rest of them.”

Rest of who? The sim troopers? Wash was friends with a bunch of sim troopers?

(Please be friends and not—)

  
  


The room was fine. Wash said that she might be able to have a full wardrobe by the end of the week, and to see Carolina for clothes until then. Despite the size difference. (Yeah, CT would figure out who she was stealing from on her own.)

Speaking of Carolina, she had cut her hair. She had more scars than ever, and that was scary. Especially when you knew that she barely had any in Freelancer, when they were constantly being shot at. And one of them had just been a lucky punch of South’s.

That was only one thought coursing through her brain as she met the Reds and Blues.

There were the reds. Sarge, whose name was very confusing. Leader of the reds. He was tough, but didn’t seem too bright. Talked like an older man than the little red left in his hair seemed to indicate. He still seemed to think the simulation war was real. He hated Grif, though CT couldn't figure out why through cursory interaction.

Next was Simmons. Maroon. He seemed to have trouble making eye contact with her. Not even the cyborg eye would look at her. Pale. Skinny, to the point where he was probably underweight. He seemed to know enough, but was still clearly an idiot.

Then came Grif. Orange, as far as she could tell. He was a patchwork of skin that looked to be Simmons’s and his own. He was nowhere near military regulations of in shape, and definitely not from a place where the sun was hidden. Her current guess was somewhere in the Pacific. He might have been smart, but he didn’t use it for any other than getting out of work.

Donut. Pink. Not a heterosexual by any means. He seemed to hit on everything he saw without even realizing he did it. Tall. Nasty scar all over one side of his head. He might have been in the military for years, but CT could tell on sight that he was a farm boy at heart.

Lopez. Brown. She was pretty sure he wasn’t human, and he only spoke Spanish. He only wore armor, so even if he was a human, she had no idea what he looked like. Competent.

And then the blues. Tucker. Aqua? (Or something like that.) He hit on every female-like thing even mentioned. Carolina was spared, but CT didn’t know how long that would last. Dark skin, and dreads that he kept in a (surprisingly) neat ponytail. More piercings in his ears than seemed comfortable. He may be a good soldier, but she wasn’t so sure about anything else, though. She had met him while he was trying to dodge drills.

Caboose. Dark blue. Good. Wholesome. Tall. Skinny as a beanpole and strong as an ox. Freckle-covered. Hair dyed the same color as his armor. Maybe not the standard of smart, but he definitely had some kind of genius in his head. Could you adopt adults? 

And her old friends…

Acquaintances? Weird, semi-polyamorous relationship that ended terribly? Frenemies?

Yeah, let’s go with that.

York. Looked like he had been wearing the same armor since the Project. Still the same scrawny bastard. Older, but not as old as he ought to be. More used to having one eye. Not used to not having Delta. Already getting used to being on Iris.

Carolina. Still the same color. More scars, less hair. She seemed a lot more mellow now, and there was a certain softness in her eyes when she looked at the rest of them. She loved these people. 

And finally, Wash. Black, new armor. Trained soldier. One of the best. A hard past.

Leader of the blues.

They ate breakfast and talked. CT noted that Wash had a different meal. Hm.

She observed. She watched which way they leaned, who they seemed to (dis)trust the most, habits, quirks, sayings. She wasn’t York, trained to be a spy, but she managed. She duped Freelancer for a while, hadn’t she?

“I’m just saying, I don’t get it. How did it manage to fall to Wash?” York was saying. Apparently, he had been like this ever since he had learned that Wash was leading the blues. It didn’t surprise her much. 

“We’ll tell you when you tell us why it’s so hard to comprehend,” Tucker said casually.

Tucker had been the one to cook dinner. Either he had a soft spot for Wash, or Wash liked to take advantage of power. She figured it was the former, especially given what he’d told her about how he ended up in the Project.

“It’s just—He’s Wash!” York sighed. “CT, help me out?”

A chance to embarrass both Wash and York at the same time? Absolutely.

“Wash was a dork who barely remembered to put all of his armor on, and York never realized that Wash was one of the top agents for a reason.”

Eh. Not her best.

It did do something, though. Wash blushed, losing his composure for the first time since Connie had been here. York was trying to deny her statement without lying, an impossible thing. Carolina was smiling warmly. Tucker had started laughing, while the others looked confused. 

“I—he was a go—he tried his best!” York finally settled his statement, to Connie’s amazement. 

“I wasn’t that bad,” Wash said, and Connie snorted. York gave him a look(™).

“Weren’t that bad?” York laughed. “You skateboarded on the ship.”

“Got caught, too,” Connie added.

“I only got caught once!” Wash protested. Connie could see that the Reds and Blues were having a good time.

“You bleached an entire bed set!” York said.

“Oh, that was not my fault.”

“Riiiight,” Carolina said. “It was the magical turbulence that no one else felt.”

Wash blushed a little more.   
  


“Arizona said they felt it.”

“You got reprimanded for cat pictures in your locker!” York said.

“Okay!” Wash relented. “I get it.”

“No, wait, I wanna hear this,” Tucker said, leaning over. Might as well amuse him.

“I’ll tell you later. We’ve got a full day.”

Wash cleared his throat.

“Later, Tucker will be catching up on his drills.” Tucker groaned.

“I just learned that you kept cat pictures in your locker, and you’re going to ruin the moment by making me run drills?” Tucker asked. Wash nodded. “Buzzkill.”


	5. Chapter 5

Drills did not keep either Tucker or Wash safe. After breakfast was done, York and Connie found each other, and started to conspire.

It didn’t take long for them to realize they would probably need Carolina. So they set out.

After finding her, she filled them in on the important details. Topics to avoid, topics to discuss, people’s backstories, etcetera. By the end, they felt confident they could face them.

After lunch, the two cornered Tucker. All he did was smile.

“Are you two going to tell me embarrassing stories or give me the shovel talk?” Connie’s eyes narrowed. The truth was she hadn’t decided yet. Someone’s footsteps echoed through the hallway, keeping her from responding.

“Ooh-la-la, what’s happening in  this  dark corner?” Ah. Here comes the variable.

Donut was… almost entirely unpredictable. Sure, you could expect to hate whatever came out of his mouth (or, more accurately, hate whatever came into your mind), but there was no saying what it was you were hating.

“Pretty sure they were about to warn me not to break Wash’s heart or some shit,” Tucker said. Donut gave a smile, but this one was…

Scary?

“Oh! You two are trying to provide protection. How  awfully  ironic.”

“What?” CT asked. 

“Ask Caboose!” Tucker said, already grabbing Donut’s arm and leaving.

CT turned to York.

“What was that about?” she asked. 

York blinked a few times. “I don’t know. Let’s go ask Caboose.”

  
  


As soon as York had seen Donut, he had pegged him as harmless. He had pegged most of them as harmless. (Ugh, peg. Donut was getting to him.)

The deeper he got into this, the more he doubted that. He had thought that whatever the hell was going on with Wash would be the bloodiest. He still thought that, but scariest backstory was getting challenged.

They had mentioned a doctor a few times. One who had been possessed by Omega. And then waved it away as if it were nothing. They had shot at each other and yet the scars were treated like happy stories to tell grandchildren.

They all seemed  insane.

But this feeling hadn’t been pinned down until he had seen the smile. Actually, it was more like a full facial expression.

There was a type of murderous glint in his eyes. It wasn’t happy. It was strange, just a second of that glint and York was terrified. Donut’s eyes looked like the opposite of harmless.

A certain twist of his facial scarring had made it seem intimidating, instead of simply present. His perfectly groomed eyebrow had somehow transformed into something that wouldn’t be out of place on a movie villain.

And then, there was his smile. It was a poisonous type of happy, like if York tried to smile back, he would get incinerated on the spot.

“How  awfully  ironic!” His voice was hatred and fear and venom and—

“What was that about?” He heard Tucker’s parting only a millisecond before Connie. Right.

“I don’t know. Let’s go ask Caboose.”

  
  


They found Caboose in a garden out behind the bases, humming what sounded like “You Are My Sunshine.” He wasn’t gardening or keeping watch, just sitting there in civvies and rocking back and forth.

“Caboose!” Connie called, smiling. Caboose stopped humming.

“Agent CD! Agent Chocolate!” Caboose greeted. York held a laugh. He had actually hated Yorks as a kid. Artificial mint had always tasted gross.

“Hey, man. We were wondering if you could—” His train of thought ran off the railings.

‘Oh! Like the one Agent Washington and Agent Carolina talk about at night!’

"—tell us what Wash and Carolina talk about at night.”

Connie shot him a surprised look. Caboose went still.

“They told me not to talk about that,” he stage whispered. “It’s a secret.”

“What is?” Connie asked.

“Their night—oh! I am not supposed to talk about that.” The second repetition was firmer, but York had gotten what he needed.

Nightmares. He was going to say nightmares.

Carolina had always had nightmares. Since she was a kid. Sharing a bed with her was like a close combat evasion course. Even if they had tended to be quiet back then, hearing them wasn’t surprising. When they’d have to stay out overnight on mission, she’d sleep in her helmet, for goodness sake.

But Wash? Wash had been the only freelancer who slept well.

He wasn’t blind, he could see the bags under Wash’s eyes, but they were fairly small. Not even as bad as his after Delta’s implantation.

“York. Connecticut.”

They turned. Standing there, in a perfect color-coordinated line, the Reds and Blues looked intimidating. Caboose suddenly was standing right at their backs, towering over them.

He may look like he was able to be pushed over by a stiff breeze, but that man could lift both Connie and York one-handed as easily as someone else could lift a pillow. He had only seen that kind of strength without the body to go with it once before. Years ago, now. Allison.

(Don’t get him wrong. It wasn’t like he hadn’t known strong people before; Maine practically  defined strong. He was just eight feet tall and built like a brick shithouse.)

“Why don’t you come inside?” Donut. Back with his terrifying voice and eyes and smile. “We’ll have a nice little chat about how when you break something, it can take a long time to fix.”

Well, fuck.


	6. Chapter 6

The room they were led into wasn’t too big, but it fit them all. It looked like they used it for storage. The lighting was dim, leaving long shadows all around.

Connie and York were forced onto opposite sides of a pool table. The Reds and Blues were on the long sides. 

Now, York was a tactical genius. He knew that. Freelancer had known that. He could get out of practically any situation. Keep that in mind while you watch him choose a defensive tactic that has never helped anyone.

“This is a joke, right?”

Ah, such a dumb move.

“York, do you know what the first thing any of us ever heard Wash scream is?”

Okay, if he had to deal with scary Donut for a whole talk, this wasn’t going to be good.

“No?” It was a guess and an answer.

“Allison.” He blinked. Did they know…?

“A freelancer.”

His head snapped back to Donut.

“Golly,” York said sarcastically. Donut sighed.

“Connecticut, did you know that Wash thought of you as his  _ only _ childhood friend, and his first loss at Freelancer?”

“How do you know that?” That was CT. The girl who bitched about how the Director was screwing with them during the Project. The one who back—

No. Stop. Remember what Tex explained during the fall. Remember that this is a new start. No more not trusting your closest friends. No more thinking that sleeping with a gun under your pillow was being underprepared, instead of being paranoid.

“Because we’ve spent years trying to fix the damage you guys did!” Tucker. His eyes were on fire, his teeth bared.

York glanced around the room. Everyone's eyes were the same. Their jaws just as locked.

“And don’t even start on Carolina! My gosh!” He really, really regretted thinking any of them were harmless.

“Listen,” Grif said. York blinked. He hadn’t expected Grif to join in so readily. “You guys messed each other up bad. You left each other behind when, just for example, you were thrown off cliffs, or had your minds ripped apart.”

“And,” Simmons continued, “you just  _ accepted _ it, and left them for dead.”

“Agent York, do you know how Carolina met us?” 

“Caboose?” Connie’s voice was soft, hesitant, and  _ betrayed _ . York might be having some trust issues, but that made his blood run cold with rage.

“She said she wanted to save my best friend so that we could find her dad and throw him a surprise party.”

What?

“To kill him,” Simmons clarified.

_ Oh. _

“Agent Washington was so angry over all your god-damned shenanigans that I had to give him a speech just to make sure he wouldn’t let her die!” Sarge too? Did they  _ all  _ have some story about them to prove how messed up they had gotten?

“So, Agent York! Agent Connecticut! What we are  _ trying  _ to say, is that y’all broke two perfectly good people, and when they were given to us, it took a lot of time, but we finally fixed them. Now, you two come, expecting to be forgiven, and have the  _ indecency  _ to act as if you are the ones in the position of protecting when you can barely tell us five things about Wash currently. Y’all better get out of the past, and start trying to heal yourselves!” Donut dropped his voice to a low hiss. “And if you ever want to talk about how we are the ones who know them best currently again, you know where to find us.”

And, as if on cue, the entirety of the Reds and Blues walked out, leaving York and Connie alone.

“He didn’t know Allison.” Connie, quiet, soft. York’s rage faded under the feeling of his heart breaking a little.

“It was—”

“He didn’t know Allison.” It was stronger now. Stern.

“Con—”

“No, York! He didn’t know her!” She grabbed a pool stick and broke it across her knee. “He didn’t know a single thing about her! All he knew was the fucking Director and his fucking games!” 

She was trashing the room. Her voice was breaking.

“Connie, please.”

She paused. The door had been opened, light spilling in.

Washington.

When she spoke, it was back to a whisper.

“You didn’t. You never knew her.”

“I know, Con.”

They were hugging. York slipped out.

They messed up, yeah. They messed up bad.

When somebody said that to him, it was fine. He could take it, even if it stung, not that Connie couldn’t. 

That doesn’t mean that he wouldn’t get mad when somebody brought up Allison in  _ that  _ way. As if a freelancer was all she was. As if a  _ nightmare _ was all she was.

And in front of Connie? The one person who had gotten close to her while they were still in the Project?

Oh, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind.

The Reds and Blues were insane, and he hated them.


	7. Chapter 7

He spent the next six hours in his room. When it was ten minutes before he would get called for dinner, he slipped away.

York was good at that.

He climbed a few staircases, opened a few doors, and soon, he found he had run into a dead end. The attic.

It was nice. Clean. A window was on the far side. He snorted. This wouldn’t hold Florida  _ or _ Wyoming for a minute, much less both.

He crossed the room and looked out. There was a fire was burning near the garden. It was controlled, of course, but it still burned brightly. He hadn’t known they were going to be around a fire for dinner tonight. Almost made him want to go down and join them.

“You know, there’s no food or water in here.”

He jumped. Only two people had ever been able to sneak up on th—him. No Delta, no Allison. Only one answer. (Though, who the hell knew, it wasn’t like he  _ knew _ these people.)

He turned to meet her gaze, remembering how much research he had done on DNA and genetics just to have the power to say their kids would probably have her green eyes.

“Did you follow me?” York asked. 

Carolina smiled. “Simmons saw you going up. I figured you would eventually get to the top and stop.”

Bop bop bop.

“Heh. You always knew me best.” But he didn’t know her. Not anymore.

“Listen, York. A lot has happened. No amount of storytelling or explaining can ever bring you fully up to speed.”

“Aw, and here I thought you didn’t care.”

“But I do. I always have.” She took a shaky breath. “You just gotta… roll with it. The only way to find your place is if you let yourself fall into it. They’ll help you.” She laughed. “Even in the weirdest ways.”

“Are you referencing something specific, or...?” 

“Or,” she agreed. 

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” York said, a little too bitter and a little too tired to pretend.

Carolina jerked in surprise. “What?” 

“You act like they’re some kinda harmless, therapeutic—“

“ _ What _ are you talking about?”

“Nothing.” York shook his head. “I… I’m sorry, that was outta line.”

“Sure it was, but I still want to know why you said it.” She stepped closer, eyebrows crumpling.

“Only person Tex ever hung out with in the Project?”

“CT.” Automatic response. Quick as anything. Then, a moment later: “What?”

“Guy who went on the run with her for a year after everything went to hell?” She stared, and he gestured to himself with a bitter laugh. “We split up because Omega got to be an issue.”

“York, I—“

“You know how your  _ helpers  _ brought her up? As Wash’s nightmare. As ‘a freelancer’. Like that’s all she was. Like it’s her fault what happened to him.”

Carolina’s face was stricken.

“And, sure, we messed up. Sure, we don’t know y’all anymore, I’ll be the first to admit it, but—“ York closed his eyes, blinking away angry tears. “But don’t go saying—“

Someone was—oh. This was a hug. He pushed his shoulders down and hugged back.

After a long moment, she pulled back. Just a bit. Just enough to look him in the eyes. “That was out of line. Not you, them. That isn’t even—Wash dreams about someone else. My mother.”

It took a moment for everything to click. Alpha, the fragments. “He got memories?”

“Exactly. I still—the Reds and Blues? Really?” Did she think of them as harmless as he had assumed?

“No, the group of people who live here who aren’t the Reds and Blues.”

Carolina sighed. “No, I—well, really the only one who’s ever gotten mad enough to scare away someone is…”

Is gone. Is dead. Is something.

“Look, ‘Lina. I’m not going to be able to automatically trust them like you—”

Carolina laughed. It was a bittersweet sound, and it made York stop.

“I treated them like they weren’t people for months. It took my  _ brother  _ to make me stop.”

Holy shit, she had a brother?

“Who…?”

“It doesn’t matter.” She waved her hand. “Let’s go downstairs.”

And then they heard the loudest shriek possible. 

Carolina ran to the window, and  _ opened  _ it.

“Whoa, what are you—? Carolina!”

She jumped.


	8. Chapter 8

A knock on his door. Showtime.

“Oh, hey Tucker. I was—”

Tucker cut him off. He seemed nervous.

“Ah, sorry, but, uh…” He kept glancing towards his left, the direction the front door was in. “Tall dude. Outside. Having the fastest conversation with Donut and Caboose.”

Tall dude? Descriptive. Let’s go see. He motioned with his hand for Tucker to start walking.

When he walked out, he let out a shriek. 

_ Maine. _

Maine looked over at him, smiling.

“Carolina!”

_ Nyooo- _

What?

_ -Ooooomph _

Carolina dropped down in front of him and started sprinting towards Maine. He had about one second of looking fearful before being tackled.

“Maine!”

Maine rocked with the impact and set Carolina down, but Wash was already near enough to hug him because  _ Maine. _

“You’re back.”

“Has been for two months!” Donut said. “Apparently, he took a little detour!”

Maine pulled away and started signing. “I studied sign, mostly.”

“That’s—that’s great!” Wash said. “We can show you to your room later. Food time.”

Tucker muttered something about being glad he always made seconds. Wash made Maine sit next to him. Carolina sat on his other side. The two of them snuggled in. (York would’ve been offended he didn’t get this treatment, but it was  _ Maine _ . He’d be doing it, too, if there were room.)

Fire dinners were used for storytime, as it turned out. Maine seemed to enjoy it.

“And, you know, she never used the lockers, so we were all kinda scared,” York said. “And then, out of nowhere, she just pulls out a thing of moisturizer, and just hands it to Wash, as if this was an everyday thing.”

“It was,” Wash said. “I had to pay monthly.”

“How did she even get moisturizer? I always had to use mayonnaise and water,” Tucker said.

“I don’t know. She’s Tex. Maybe she made it.”

“Better question,” Connie said. “How did you manage to get a monthly thing of mayonnaise?”

“Oh, we didn’t. Caboose traded the crock pot for, like, 140 jars.”

“Oh, I remember that. Yeah, Church was happy.”

“Church?” York asked. He shot Carolina an unreadable look. Wash sucked in a breath.

“Yeah, he was a friend of ours,” Tucker explained. Wash snorted.

“More like an enemy who happened to like you all.”

  
  


“He died like three times,” Simmons said. “At least, I think so.”

York chuckled.

“He actually dated Tex for a while, right?” Grif asked.

“Whoa, he dated  _ Tex _ ?” CT asked.

“So we’re told,” Tucker said.

“We think that if we paid her enough, she still would’ve shot him.” Simmons paused. “Not that it would’ve done us any good.”

“Hey, you never told us, why wouldn’t he face us that one time?” Grif asked.

“Oh, he was possessing Lopez, and we accidentally disabled his legs,” Tucker said.

“Tucker did it!” Caboose said, brightly. More and more, York was thinking it was just an automatic response.

“Bullshit,” he responded.

“Wait, he could possess robots?  _ That’s  _ how you managed to keep Lopez from running off?” Simmons asked.

“He was an A.I., of course he could possess robots.”

“Wait, he was an A.I.?” CT asked, eyes narrowing slightly in the firelight. “Where did you get an A.I.?”

“Freelancer,” Tucker said. What an answer. “You guys needed a place to hide him, so you chose the most inconspicuous one: a hellhole canyon full of incompetents.”

“Which was he?” York asked, leaning towards him.

“At first, he was the Alpha. Then Epsilon.”

“Epsilon? As in the one who tore Wash’s mind apart?” Maine signed. Caboose translated.

“Yeah. Caboose somehow tamed him. Because he’s Caboose.”

“He was my best friend!” Caboose’s bright smile faded. “But now he’s gone.”

It was quiet for a long time. 

“Who do you think will arrive next?” Wash asked, mostly to keep the conversation going.

“Probably North, if we’re lucky,” Carolina said. “South, if the universe isn’t in our favor, which it always isn’t. Wyoming or Florida if it hates us.”

“Okay, wait, I remember Wyoming but what’s so bad about Florida?” Simmons asked.

“Ho-o-o boy. Florida was…” York trailed off.

“He told me to call him papa once,” Wash said.

“Oh, man. I used to have an officer like that,” Tucker said. “Seriously creeped me out. We never reported his death, actually.”

“How’d he die?” Connie asked.

“Heart attack.”

“Oh! I remember that one.” Simmons paused. “He didn’t die of a heart attack.”

“What?” Tucker asked.

“Yeah, I remember talking to the medic. He died of an allergic reaction to aspirin. Weird thing was, they were pretty sure it was on purpose.”

“Why were you talking to the medic?” Wash asked. 

Simmons shrugged. “Curiosity. Who names someone Butch when they have the last name  _ Flowers _ ?”

A long pause followed. York glanced at Carolina, who was looking at Wash, who looked very surprised. Florida was one of the only people who was open about his name. He had gotten reprimanded several times, but he would always continue to let them use it. 

Not that they did.  _ Butch  _ was just a bit too much.

“What is it?” Tucker asked. 

“Did he sound kind of like Donut?” Wash asked seriously. 

“I mean, less innuendo with every word and more…”

“Frighteningly cheerful and somewhat insane?”

“Exactly!” Tucker snapped his fingers agreeably. “Wait, what?”

“I think Florida didn’t explode,” CT said.

Tucker’s face fell. 

“Well, I think we got some attic reinforcing to do,” Wash said, though he didn’t move from his spot curled against Maine. “Carolina?”

“Mm, after dinner.” She, too, stayed curled against Maine, but bothered to turn slightly in his direction. 

“We can put Wyoming up there too,” he offered.

“I’ll help! We got some soundproofing, right? Bow chicka bow wow.” York repressed his groan. He can’t believe he had been  _ scared  _ of this man. 

“I don’t know, Wash may have used it all,” Simmons said.

“He does scream a lot!” Donut said. He was looking directly at York with the same expression he had on earlier. York didn’t shiver as a fear response, but if he did, he would’ve. “I’ll definitely help, though. Love to get up in that tight hole!”

There was a pause to allow the newer members of the group to adjust.

Maine signed, “groan.”

“So, do you have any stories about Wash?” Tucker asked, leaning forward looking at Maine. 

“I picked him up by his neck once. He started purring.” 

CT, having understood the sentence perfectly, started to laugh. 

“What did he say?” Sarge asked.

“He says, he picked Wash up like, like a cat once, and he started  _ purring. _ ”

Wash blushed. He had been half asleep at the time, not that they would care.

“Can we talk about  _ anything  _ else?”

“Oh, come on!” Connie said. “We haven’t even gotten to the plate incident!”

“Let’s talk about the Tower of Procreation!” York blinked.

“We said we wouldn’t talk about it!” 

“Well, now we  _ have  _ to talk about it,” Connie said.

“They’re just mad because they got locked in a closet for the whole thing,” Tucker said.

“Oh, that’s better than when we changed the schedule for York and Carolina to fight each other!”

A pause.

“I beat his ass.”

“He wasn’t allowed on missions for a month,” Wash said.

“Better than when you faced off against South.”

“Better than when you faced off against Tex,” he retorted.

“Dude, you faced off against  _ Tex _ ? The scary one?” Tucker said. “Really?”

“She was new! There were three of us! I didn’t know!” York said, defensively. 

  
“That’s when he lost his eye,” Carolina said. “He broke out of the infirmary way before he was meant to, though.”

“Eh. There was a mission. Couldn’t let  _ Wash  _ do the locks.”

“You set an alarm off before the target was even in sight!”

“And you could do better?” York asked. Wash sighed. 

“I don’t have to take this. I could go back to my room right now.”

“Really? And stop cuddling with Maine?” Connie asked. “Go ahead. I’ll take your place.”

“No way, CT. I’d bring him.”

“There’s room on my lap?” Maine offered. Connie shook her head.

York shrugged and walked over. Carolina put her legs over him protectively.

“Sit down.” 

York put his hands up. “Sorry, boss.” 

“Okay,  _ how? _ ” Tucker finally asked. “It took us  _ months  _ to get Wash to accept a  _ hand hug. _ ”

York shrugged, settling back into his seat. “Maine gives the best hugs. Everyone knows that.”

“He’s like a teddy bear,” CT added. “Big, soft, and warm.”

Caboose gasped. “Do you microwave your teddy bears?” 

There was a long pause. 

“Caboose,” Wash said slowly. “She means like the warmth you get from blocking out the cold.”

“Oh, yeah. I knew that. I was just making sure.”

Another pause.

“On  _ that  _ note, it’s almost lights out. We should start cleaning up.”

By “we” Wash meant everyone but Wash, Carolina, and Maine. 

Once they were done, and Wash had had ten minutes to prepare himself to get up, they headed back inside.

Of course, the next morning, another freelancer had arrived.


	9. Chapter 9

“Oh, why hello Counselor.”

“Agent Wyoming. Hello.”

“What happened to the bomb?”

“You died, Agent Wyoming. That would be the current date. Down to the minute.”

“That’s a jolly long time.”

“Yes, it is. We have only recently managed to unlock the resurrection process.”

“Did you want something, gent?”

“Yes. We have the coordinates of your fellow freelancers. Would you like me to beam you down?”

“Why I don’t suppose I got anywhere else to go, ol’ chap, do I?”

“Is that a yes, Agent Wyoming?”

“Ah, yes.”

“Very well. Make sure to tell Agent Washington that more keys are to come.”

“Will do.”

“Thank you, Agent Wyoming.”

  
  


Maybe it was a bad idea to say yes.

Who knew how they would react. 

A pause.

A longer pause.

‘You okay there, Gamma?’

No response.

He was gone.

“Twenty seconds until departure.”

Great, jolly good. No Gamma, no weapon, and he was about to see someone who he had murdered.

“Ten seconds until departure.”

Alright. Deep breath. Get ready.

“Five seconds until departure.”

Not ready, not ready, not ready.

“Four, three, two, one.”

_ FSHOOM _

Oh dear. 

“God fucking damn it,” York said. “Screw it. I’m just gonna shoot him.”

“Is that any way to treat an old friend?” Wyoming asked. York did not appear moved.

“You fucking killed me!” He responded.

“To be fair, you  _ were  _ trying to kill me.”

Suddenly, a voice from behind him spoke.

“Eh. This is getting boring.”

And then, pain from the back of his head wasn’t felt. Because he fainted.

  
  


“That’s for fucking kidnapping my kid, you trashy English talking bastard.”

“You have a kid?” York asked.

“Yeah! Wanna see?” He pulled a picture out and handed it to York, over Wyoming’s unconscious body. “He’s the tall one.”

“The… tall one.”

“Are you judging my kid?” Tucker asked.

“No! No, it’s just…” 

Connie leaned over.

“You fucked an alien?” she asked.

“More like I was  _ raped _ by an alien. They really liked my sword. Bow chicka bow wow.”

“Your…  _ sword _ ?” Connie asked.

“Yeah! It fucking glows!” He turned it on in a practiced motion.

Connie nodded appreciatively. “Nice.”

“Okay, we get it. Now help me tie up Wyoming,” Wash said. He was piggy-backing on Maine. They didn’t have proof he had parted from Maine at all since last night.

So, of course, ‘help me’ meant ‘do it for me while I stay on Maine’s back.’

Maine had to stop supporting him for a while, though, because he was asked to carry Wyoming up to the attic. 

“Is this the real reason you run drills? To prepare for this?” Tucker asked. Wash’s head made a slight nodding movement into Maine’s shoulder. Tucker laughed. “Dude. How touch starved are you?”

“Very,” Carolina said. She had been hovering around whichever freelancer happened to be nearby all day. 

“Do you need a hug?” Caboose asked CT very suddenly. She blinked.

“Uh—whoa!” Cracking was heard as Caboose scooped CT into a hug. “Caboose, I can’t breathe.” 

Caboose set her down on the stairs. She started to run to catch up with the rest of them.

“Uh, thanks big guy.”

“You are welcome!”

They kept walking to the attic. They hadn’t reinforced it yet, but they could always knock Wyoming unconscious again. He was tied up, anyway.

When the arrived in the attic, Maine was instructed to set Wyoming down. After he had, he went back to supporting Wash. He would never complain, but he had been choking Maine.   
  
They boarded up the window previously used for jumping out of. They cut out a small square in the door, it would be used for food and water, they then boarded everything.  _ Everything. _

They untied Wyoming's feet. Then they realized they were trapped. Oops.

Maine helped Carolina and Caboose unboard the door. After they got outside, they locked the door. They would have to wait for Florida to board it up. 

Caboose came up with the barricade.

By the end, the room was perfect for keeping tied up Florida and Wyoming, and Wyoming had been knocked out fifteen times. All by Tucker, all followed with variations of “that was for Junior, fucking Reginald.”

He had learned Wyoming’s name from CT, and decided it was absolutely hilarious.

He also thought the mustache was hilarious.  _ Especially  _ when it wasn’t connected to Wyoming’s face.

Where did he get an electric razor? No one knew. No one wanted to know.

“I think I’m going to pin this to my wall,” Tucker said. “We can use it for playing pin the tail on the bitchface during Christmas. And Purim. And birthdays.”

“You’re Jewish?” CT asked, as they started heading back downstairs.

“No, but Grif and Carolina are.”

“So, you’re Christian?” she guessed.

“No, but Caboose and Grif are.” 

“What?” York asked.

“It’s true.” Simmons sounded very disappointed. “He’s  _ every  _ religion.”

“How?” CT asked.

“I wanted the most vacation days,” Grif said.

“So he checked all of the above,” Simmons said. “I’ve told him every day is Monday since.”

“Wait, you have?” Grif asked, a betrayed look on his face.

“Hey, not my fault you used your helmet clock for  _ Battlestar Galactica _ .”

CT laughed. “Really? The one from the 20th century? How did you even get that?”

“21st, thank you. I have taste.”

“No,” Maine signed. Donut let out a laugh.

“Did he just shush me?” Grif asked. 

Connie shook her head. “No, he just… well, he made a very compelling argument.” 

They started parting ways as they made it to the base of the stairs. Wash pulled Tucker aside.

“Yeah, dude? What is it?” He was backing towards the kitchen. Wash took a step forward, dropping his voice.

“Did you guys yell at Connie and York?” He had been putting this off. After York had left, it had taken ten minutes to calm her down. Another ten for her to tell him what happened.

“What do you mean?” Tucker asked. He wouldn’t lie, Wash told himself. He’s genuinely confused.

“I found Connie in the storage room the other day, yelling about Tex. She said you guys had threatened her.” Tucker’s eyes widened.    
  


“Oh. That.” Tucker was almost a step away from the kitchen.

“What do you mean that? What happened?” Wash asked.

“Why don’t you ask Donut?” Tucker said quickly, took a step back, and closed the door, leaving Wash alone.

Wash blinked. He could go around and come through the window. He could demand Tucker open the door. He could break down the door. Hm. That sounded fun. He could wait out here until Tucker came out, because it had to happen eventually. He could do an impression of someone and try to trick him.

Or he could just go and ask Donut.

Yeah, no.  _ But,  _ according to Connie, all of them had been there. He’d go for the weakest link. Simmons.


	10. Chapter 10

Simmons? Can I talk to you for a moment?” Simmons blinked, pausing in toweling off his flesh hand.

“Uh… sure, Wash. What is it?” Simmons’ eyes were shifting around, looking everywhere but Wash.

“Did you happen to know what happened after lunch yesterday with Connie and York?” Wash asked. Simmons bit his lip.

“Uh… no. Nope. Not a clue.” Hm. Lying.

“Really? Because I heard you did.” He leaned forward, remembering the days he would watch North and York interrogate. He focused on the few times when Connie had talked him through being the person in the back with a knife. Be scary, Washington.

“We-ell, I didn’t. So…” He attempted to slip past Wash, but Wash caught his shoulder.

“Wanna try again?” Wash asked, and dammit he didn’t  _ want  _ to do this. Simmons would probably avoid him for at least a few days after this. “Well?”

“We—we may have threatened them because Freelancer really screwed both of you up and they were acting like they like they had a right to be protective and really it was just supposed to be a reality check it was Donut’s idea I swear.” He said it all in one breath, getting faster until it was practically one sound.

Wash let go of his shoulder. 

“Got it. Thanks, Simmons.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Not at you.”

A look.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you later.”

Simmons scampered off. Wash retreated to his room. Tomorrow, he would talk to them.

  
  
  
  


His alarm went off at 7:30. 45 minutes before breakfast.

He showered and got dressed. 30.

He paced his room. He could tell Carolina, but that would scare them. 

‘At this point, do you really care?’ He asked himself.

Stop that. That’s jail Wash. We locked him away.

He should probably tell Carolina. After he figured it out.

He’d have to talk to Donut. Probably apologize to Simmons.

20 minutes. Okay.

Wait. Fuck. It was a Friday. They ate early on Friday. He had five.

They ate early on Friday so people would be more tired, because Church had always wanted to sleep in on Saturday.

Okay. Okay. He could do this. Take a breath, let out that breath. Four.

He stared at the clock. 

_ 7:57. _

Breath in, breath out. Do it again. He could avoid talking about it for twenty minutes, right?

_ 7:58. _

Tucker would yell in two minutes. If he didn’t walk out the door in two, someone would come get him.

_ 7:59. _

Oh wait. Simmons. He’d be all nervous. Great. 

_ 8:00. _

“Breakfast!”

He opened the door, and started towards the kitchen. 

It was pancakes. With fucking syrup. How did you get syrup out of an MRE? 

Wash sat down. Chocolate waffles. Nice. 

Simmons walked in, saw Wash, told Tucker he was going to go to the bathroom, and walked out.

Great. 

Grif and Sarge looked wary. Simmons must have told them.

Donut didn’t seem to care. Of course, Simmons might not have told him. Wash wondered if he would really do that.

Maine nudged him. Wash hadn’t seen him sit down.

“You look upset. What happened?”

“Hm? Nothing. It’s… nothing.” Maine didn’t need to know. Hell, he didn’t want  _ Carolina  _ to know.

“You sure, Wash?” Tucker asked. Right. The others.

“Yeah. Don’t worry about it.” Carolina would give him so much shit for this. 

“Are you only saying that because you know I won’t let you say you’re fine?” Carolina asked. God, he was so out of it.

“No. …A little.”

Carolina rolled her eyes. “Shut up and eat your damn waffles, Washington.”


	11. Chapter 11

“Hello, Counselor!”

“Please, call me Aiden, Agent Florida.”

“Only if you call me Butch!”

“...If that makes you comfortable, Butch.”

“It  _ does,  _ Aiden.”

“Would you like to know the date, Butch?”

“As a matter of fact, I  _ would, _ Aiden.”

…

“You died, Butch. You were murdered by the Alpha A.I.”

“Oh, well I’m sure he didn’t mean to.”

“He didn’t. He actually passed away later.”

“What happened to Private Tucker? I always thought he had potential.”

“He is currently spending time with a few of your fellow agents. Would you like to see them again?”

“Who would be there?”

“Agent York, Agent Washington, Agent Carolina, Agent Maine, Agent Connecticut, and Agent Wyoming.”

“Then I would love to, Aiden.”

“Very well. If you would, please tell Agent Washington that more keys will come.”

“I’d be honored, Aiden.”

“Thank you, Butch.”

  
  


“Twenty seconds until departure.”

“Ten seconds until departure.”

Now.

“Five seconds until departure.”

“Four. Three. Two. One.”

_ FSHOOM _

No one.    
  
They were probably in the bases.

He approached the blue base.

He went through the back, avoiding windows. Subconsciously.

He heard a yell of ‘breakfast’, and headed towards there.

_ A dining hall. _

Florida slipped through the door, hiding in the shadows.

Hm. David.

Ooh, Tucker. 

Maine…

Carolina.

Who was that?

He wondered where Reginald was. York and CT had arrived too.

Wait, did he say Wyoming?

“He’s doing fine. Hasn’t broken out yet, has he?” Carolina said.

Did they handcuff Reginald?

“We should feed him soon,” Wash said.

Did they name a pet Wyoming?

“You sure we can’t let him starve?” Tucker asked. Hm.

“Of course not,” Wash said. “He’d eventually eat through the ropes and then he would escape.”

“Remind me again why we can’t just board the door up?” someone he didn’t know asked.

“Because we don’t have the other one yet,” York said. 

“Like him?” Well now, who was that?

“Caboose, what are you talking about?” Tucker asked. Caboose.

“The man in the corner.” Oh.

Everyone turned to him.

“Fuck!” Wash said. “Florida!”

“Washington, now really isn’t the time,” Florida said. 

Wash sighed. He sounded so much older. “Maine, please hit him.”

Maine got up. He made a motion with his hands.

“He says he is sorry,” Caboose said.

“It’s okay, Maine!” Flowers said. Maine nodded, then hit him over the head.

  
  


“Okay,” Grif said, looking at him. “I get us, because we’re all idiots, but how did he manage to sneak up on  _ five fucking freelancers _ ?”

“He was trained!” Wash said, defensively.

“Weren’t you too, though?” Tucker asked. Were they just going to ignore the unconscious body on the side of the room?

“No. I was more of a… jack of all trades.”

“What he means is that he sucked equally at everything,” Connie said, grabbing the rope from the counter. They had gotten it out the day before, when Wyoming had shown up.

“Don’t tie his feet,” Wash said, suddenly. “He’ll be locked with Wyoming before he wakes up.”

“Grab that container, Caboose,” Carolina said. Caboose nodded.

“What’s in the container?” York asked.

“Food.”

“Nice,” Grif said, though it seemed like an automatic response. “Wait, when did you put food in there?”

“When you blacked out,” Carolina said. She was lying, of course, but Grif didn’t need to know that.

“When…? You know what, I don’t need to know.”

Wash smiled. Of course she would do that. Freaking out people was her job.

“Hnghh, Maine, you’re really strong.”

“He says he’s sorry!” Donut said.

“It’s okay—”

Florida didn’t wake up again until they got to the attic. Wyoming was already awake.

“Hello, gents. I say, is that Butch?” Wyoming said, sitting up.

“It sure is,” Carolina said. She took the food from Caboose and handed it to him. He held his feet up.

Maine set Florida down, and they walked out. 

Time to board up the door.

Afterwards, Wash pulled Donut aside. He needed to sort this out, even if it involved scaring a few of them. 

“What is it, Wash?” Donut asked, smiling. How did this man make  _ Connecticut  _ cry?

“I was wondering… two days ago. Did you say anything unusual to Connie or York?” Donut kept his smile, and Wash almost said nevermind, it’s nothing.

“I  _ did  _ say a lot of things, but nothing unusual! Only making sure we all are friendly,” Donut said. Was he looking to hear a bit too much, or did Donut just confess to what Wash was asking?

“The thing is… a lot of things happened at Freelancer that affected all of us. Not just me and Carolina.” Donut’s face changed. It was… strange.

“So they had their minds ripped apart too?” Donut asked. Wash blinked.

“How did you…?” He hadn’t told any of them about that.

“A lot of people whisper things in my ear!” Donut said, and he was smiling again. Did Carolina tell them? No. No way. She wouldn’t.

And you wouldn’t threaten the most anxious member of the red team. He shook his head.

“No, they didn’t, all it was was—it isn’t  _ their  _ fault.” He didn’t know how to explain it to Donut.

“If I may, Wash, it  _ is,  _ a little. Who played a bunch of tricks on you and took your naïveté for granted?” Wash stopped. How did Donut know all of this? “Which ‘friends’ left you the morning after Epsilon? And how much of Carolina came from the others not being brave enough to tell her she’s enough?”

He didn’t  _ understand.  _ It was the  _ Director.  _ The Counselor. The A.I. It wasn’t them.

...right?

“It wasn’t like that,” Wash said. Donut was still smiling.

“Then what was it like?” Donut asked. He slipped past Wash, and walked down the stairs. Had he just been asked a philosophical question?

By  _ Donut _ ?

He had. Wash decided he would think about it in his room. 

And then he ran into Carolina.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Hey Wash,” she said.

“‘Sup, ‘Lina!” Wash said, a little too loud. She gave him a confused look, but was smiling.

“Are you… good, Wash?” Carolina asked. Okay. Two options. Tell the truth, or be able to have a breakdown in his room, alone. 

“Yep!” Okay, defense mechanism. Carolina raised her eyebrow.

“Okay, then.” She continued down the hall, and Wash scampered into his room the opposite direction.

He hadn’t lied to Carolina like that since before Locus. And yes, that wasn’t too long ago, but he had been getting better, and then—

He blinked. And then the freelancers had arrived. Donut had been right. They were doing something.

It wasn’t because of the Director this time. This time it had to be because of them.

Great. He had ended up scaring Simmons and attempting to scare Donut and maybe he even scared Tucker a little and they had been  _ right. _

And, he added to himself, the next freelancer to arrive would either be North, or South. That was going to be a conversation.

He checked the clock. 8:45. He’d have to tell Tucker to run his drills soon.

God, this was such a mess. Wash was a mess. Everything was a mess.

Carolina wasn’t a mess!

  
  


Was that a cat?

Nope. Bush.

She needed coffee. And a dog.

Could dogs live on Iris? Could dogs even live within 100 feet of Wash?

Caboose said he had a dog, but they could’ve been small trash cans.

Okay. Dogs are not allowed on the moon.  _ Any  _ moon.

Shit, rock. Don’t trip. You’re better than that. Okay, now keep walking. Yeah. The rock never happened.

“Hey, Carolina!” Oh, look. It’s a Wash. 

“Yeah, Wash?” Carolina asked. He had been acting strange earlier. Maybe this was why.

“I need to talk to you,” he said, stopping right next to her.

“You have my attention.”

“Okay, so two days ago, the day Connie arrived, I found her having a breakdown with York in the storage room and so I tried to calm her down and that took a while but eventually she said that the Reds and Blues had said it was their fault for like my nightmares and stuff and they acted like they knew Allison, and blah, blah, blah and so I asked Tucker and he said to ask—”

“Wash,” Carolina said. By Tucker he was getting incomprehensible. “Breathe.”

“Right,” Wash said. “Sorry. Tucker said to ask Donut, but I thought that would probably give me very little information because he’s  _ Donut.” _

“Yeah,” Carolina said.

“So I went and asked Simmons, because I knew he would spill, but I had to scare him. He told me, of course, so I went to tell Donut that he shouldn’t do that but he made me realize he might actually be right.”

“What?” Carolina asked. She got her, York had left. He chose  _ Tex.  _ But Wash? All they had done was mess with him a little.

“That’s what I thought too, at first, but I’ve been avoiding talking to you, and I think it’s because of them, and—”

“But isn’t that after what the Reds and Blues said?” Carolina asked. “So, in the end, it’s them. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to prepare for lunch. Go tell Tucker to run his drills.”

Wash frowned. “Lunch isn’t for three hours.”

“I know,” Carolina said.


	12. Chapter 12

Simmons  _ might  _ have skipped breakfast because he hadn’t wanted to face Wash. You can’t prove it.

And it is  _ possible  _ he spent that time having a breakdown in the bathroom. You don’t have any proof.

And it may have been the sheer hunger that made him go to lunch.

Again, no one will believe you.

“Hey, Simmons,” Wash said. Simmons jumped.

“Hi, Wash!” Simmons said, trying to smile. Wash continued to the table.

Lunch was pizza. How did Tucker get pizza?

Wash had mac and cheese, because of course he did. Carolina had pineapple on her pizza. Grif was staring at it, looking horrified. 

“You good, Grif?” Carolina asked, forcibly polite. Uh-oh. She was mad. Very mad. 

“Fruit doesn’t go on pizza!” Grif said. Carolina narrowed her eyes.

“You aren’t a fan of Hawaiian pizza?” Simmons could tell she was trying to piss him off. Simmons sat down next to him and tried to warn him. It didn’t work, of course.

“It’s not Hawaiian! It’s fucking Canadian!” Grif said. Simmons glanced at Carolina. 

_ Grif, shut up… _

“Really? I remember hearing rumors it was created in Hawaii.” Simmons’ eyes widened as he realized why she was mad. Wash told her. Wash  _ told  _ her.

“That doesn’t even make sense! It’s supposed to be with  _ Canadian  _ bacon.” Why the fuck was Carolina using pizza to prove a point?

“So, it’s just because a bunch of people conspired and decided something that wasn’t true that was offensive to the people they decided made the pizza like that?” Wow. Carolina was good.

“Exactly—Wait. Are we still talking about pizza?” Grif asked. Maine took a bite. He looked slightly amused.

“No, we aren’t,” Carolina said. She leaned forward. Wash looked very content about his mac and cheese. “See, you made York cry. That isn’t okay.”

Uh-oh. This wasn’t good.

“‘Lina…” York muttered. Carolina ignored him.

“I get that you were  _ trying  _ to do something good, but Freelancer isn’t your department. A lot of things happened that you don’t know about. And—”

“Carolina, haven’t you spent whole nights wondering why York left?” Caboose asked. Carolina stopped.

“That isn’t the point Caboose. He didn’t know I was alive.”

“But they left Wash, too. He was stuck at Freelancer for years,” Tucker pointed out.

“And we messed up. But that isn’t why we’re like this. We were experimented on. They  _ needed  _ to get out of there as fast as possible. The Director would kill people he saw as unable to keep up with the program, and, besides, CT and York were probably working the hardest to keep us stable and sane. There’s a lot that happened, but it’s behind us now.”

She locked eyes with Donut.

“And if  _ any  _ of you  _ ever  _ threaten them ever again, you will be  _ beyond _ sorry.”

“That said—” Wash put a hand on her shoulder— “thank you. Your heart was in the right place.”

And then Carolina got up, and walked out. 

“I’ll go talk to her,” York said.

Maine was the only one who ate lunch that day.

Dinner was just as awkward. They ate quickly, and left. Simmons went to bed worried. How long would they stay like this? If he had kept his mouth shut…

“Don’t.” 

Simmons jumped. What the fuck?

He turned around. Girl CT was standing there.

“What?” Simmons asked. She rolled her eyes.

“You look guilty. It isn’t your fault.” Was he really that easy to read? “Carolina would threaten a door that York stubbed his toe on.”

He smiled. Then frowned.

“She wouldn’t have found out if I hadn’t told Wash.”

“Simmons, it’s a good thing they know.” What? “You guys didn’t really do the right thing, and that’s an issue. You need to solve issues, right?”

Oh. Huh.

“I… hadn’t really thought of it like that before.” He needed to find Wash. 

Okay. Apologizing time.

Not to Carolina, though. Too scary.

He was halfway down the hall when he remembered CT.

“Uh, thanks! See you later, CT!”

He heard her mutter something, but he was too far to hear her. 

It took him twenty minutes to find Wash. It was really because he looked in a bunch of nonsensical places because he didn’t want to knock on his door. But there he was, arm raised, sweating slightly, and wondering if he could duck out while he was still whole.

Well, as whole as a cyborg could be.

_ CLANG CLANG CLANG _

Shit. He used his left arm. 

“What the f—oh. Hi, Simmons.” Wash smiled. Simmons’ mouth glitched.

“He-ey, Wash. I was, uh, I was talking to CT, and she made me realize I should probably apologize, so I spent like twenty minutes walking around finding you and now I’ve found you so.” Simmons took a breath.

“Simmons, you don’t need to apologize,” Wash said. Simmons blinked. 

“I… don’t?” 

“Yeah. It was Donut’s idea right? You were just along for the ride. You’re good, Simmons.”

“Oh. Uh. Thanks, Wash.”

Wash smiled.

“No problem. Anything else?” Okay. That was not  _ nearly  _ as bad.

“Nope. See you later.” Wash nodded and closed the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they are coming.


	13. Chapter 13

“Fuck.”

“Hello, Agent South. Agent North.”

“Fuck you.”

“South!”

“North? Oh my god.”

“Agent South and Agent North.”

“You’re alive! How are you alive? Wait. Where’s my bullet wound?”

“Bullet wound? Someone shot you?”

“Agent South and Agent North!”

“ _ What _ ?”

“Do you know the date?”

“No fucking clu—holy shit.”

“South!”

“The many years that have passed happened while you two have been deceased. We have recently started resurrecting freelancers. Would you like us to send you to their coordinates?”

“Why don’t you just give them to us?”

“May I ask why, Agent South?”

“No.”

“Very well. Received?”

“Received. Thank you, Counselor.”

“Eh. Fuck you.”

“South, please.”

“When you get there—”

_ BANG _

“Really?”

“He deserved it.”

“Fair enough. Now, you were shot?”

“Yeah, by fucking  _ Wash. _ ”

“Wow.”

“And North?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry for getting you killed.”

“You didn—Are you crying?”

“No. Fuck off.”

“C’mere.”

…

“North?”

“Yeah?”

“We should probably get going before someone realizes that the Counselor is dead.”

“Yeah…”

  
  


The next morning, Wash was surprised to find that there still wasn’t any new appearances and it was 10:00 AM. 

Then, at exactly 10:02, a purple fireball crashed right in front of the bases. 

North and South. North  _ and  _ South. 

Well, shit.

“That’s the scary lady!” Caboose said. He paused. “Why are there two of them?”

Carolina ran to the window. She groaned.    
  


“Both of them. How did we not think of that?” she asked the room at large. 

“I’m going to go back to my room,” Wash said. “It’s too early to deal with both of them.”

“Washington!” North suddenly yelled. Shit.

South was talking to him, but North seemed to be on a warpath. 

“Maybe I’ll go hang out with Florida and Wyoming,” Wash said. Now, warning to everyone who is ever mad at a twin, do not shoot them. The other twin will get very mad. 

“You can’t run, Wash! You shot my sister!”

“Oooh, Wash you’re in trouble,” Tucker said. 

“North isn’t the principal, Tucker.”

“No! It’s not okay! No one deserves to be  _ shot _ !” North yelled.

“You really should run, Wash,” Connie said. She was smiling.

“No. I’m not going to run.” They had been bugging him about this since they arrived. He had to.

“Ah. There you are, Wash.” Or he could run.

“Last chance,” York said. North opened the door.

“Hey North. South.”

“You shot my sister, Wash.”

“I kind of deserved it, North,” South said.

“She shot me first,” Wash said. 

“Told ya.”

“She also provoked me.”

“Provoked you?” North asked. “How? Did she say, ‘fuck you, Wash. Shoot me.’”

South flinched. Wash wanted to grin, despite the horrible feeling in his stomach.

“Um… North?” South asked. “That’s… pretty close.”

“What?” North asked. Wash  _ really _ wanted to smile, but Tucker was doing it for him, so he kept his frown.

“I didn’t think he would do it!” South said. North sighed.

“Sorry, Wash. My sister just said you shot her. And that she deserved it.”

“You wouldn’t  _ let  _ me say anything else!” South said.

“It’s fine, North. I  _ did  _ shoot your sister.”

Agh. He was so bad at talking. South looked over at him, opening her mouth to say something, but stopped.

“Wash, what the fuck happened to your face?” 

Wash’s hand shot up and groped at it. “What? Did Grif draw on it? I swear I would’ve woken up.” 

South shook her head. North was looking at him with wide eyes too. “No, it”s clean, but… you look like hell, Wash.”

Oh. The scarring.

“You should see my implant site,” he muttered. 

“I’m feeling the love over here.” Thank God for Carolina. Wash was  _ definitely _ feeling the love.

He slipped back into his room. Lunch was going to be a nightmare.

  
  
  


No one cooked except Tucker, if you didn’t want to starve. That had been long decided.

He chose the times, he chose the meals, and he chose who was allowed in the kitchen. 

And right now, he was thinking about banning North and South.

“I just wanted to make cookies!” North said.

“Out. Now.” 

South rolled her eyes. “I bet I could cook better than you.”

“Okay. You’re banned. Both of you. Out. Now. You’re lucky Wash and Carolina like you, or I’d take away lunch too.” He shooed them out, and closed the door.

Someone knocked on it two seconds later.

He opened the door, ready to enforce the ban.

“Oh. Hi, Wash.” He had done his drills, right? He hoped so. He couldn’t just leave and let  _ them  _ in.

“Why are North and South standing out here and looking grumpy?” Wash said, looking off to his right.

“They aren’t allowed in the kitchen,” Tucker explained, glaring at the wall on his left, where he assumed them to be.

“Uh, okay.” Wash blinked, and then turned to face him. “Sorry, she just flipped me off. Bit weird having the person you shot ten feet away and looking grumpy.”

“Don’t forget that you blew her up,” Tucker said. Wash rolled his eyes.

“That doesn’t  _ count.  _ She was already dead.”

“Yes, it does, dude.” Tucker was laughing slightly as he spoke. “You still blew her up.”

“I was in a very bad state of mind at the time, okay?” Wash asked. Ah, using his mental state as a defense. Classic Washington.

“Apparently, you still are. Rhyming a bad sign, dude.” 

Wash raised an eyebrow. “Says the one who wrote a song.” 

Oh. Low blow.

“I knew I would regret showing you that.” Tucker realized they were still standing in the doorway. “Why are you here again?”

Okay, written down that sounds really bad. It wasn’t. It’s all in the tone, right? It was clear that he wasn’t saying get lost.

“I…” Wash trailed off. “I don’t remember. See you later, Captain.”

“You too, Wash.”   
  


He closed the door as Wash walked away. 

  
  


Wash was halfway across the room when the door closed. He was also halfway across the room when South suddenly started talking to him. 

“So, did you guys just like… get back together?” Great.  _ Another  _ person.

“No.” Dammit. Too harsh. South had started smiling.

“Well, did you never breakup? Are you guys not together but you’re trying to be civil?”

“Wash has a partner?” Great. Connie was here too. “When did this happen? There isn’t even anyone emotionally mature enough on either team!” Connie paused. “I think,” was soon added.

“Not so, CT,” South said, wagging her finger with a grin. 

“He’s  _ not  _ my boyfriend,” Wash said. CT blinked. Slowly, a smile spread across her face.

“Who is it?” Connie asked South.

“The kitchen one,” South said. Beautiful. This was all beautiful.

“Tucker?” Connie asked. “Oh my god. Wash, how could you keep this from me?” She sounded as hurt as someone who had gotten a single ship stolen from. He spoke from experience.

“I didn’t keep anything from you! We’re  _ not  _ dating!” He was trying to keep his voice down. He didn’t need York and Maine—

“Who’s not dating?” Great. York.

“Wash is dating Tucker, but is trying to keep it secret,” Connie said. 

“Old news,” Grif called from the doorway as he passed by. 

Wash groaned. “He’s not my boyfriend!”

“Who?” Carolina asked, coming in riding on Maine’s shoulders. “Tucker?”

“Yeah,” York said. “We keep  _ telling  _ him that they’re totally dating, but he keeps denying it.”

“Tucker’s worse.” Maine nudged Carolina, frowning. “Just starts talking about all the girls he’s made out with. We’ve all told him that that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like guys, but he just keeps going.”

“I’m leaving,” Wash said, holding up a hand. “Goodbye. See you at lunch.”

Connie muttered something to York which sounded suspiciously like “and we have to watch you eat a totally different and better meal,” but Wash ignored her. He had to keep  _ some  _ semblance of dignity, no matter how little.

——————————————————

There was no excuse. He could not know the two new arrivals, but everyone else? Simmons required it.

Wash and Carolina were easy. You got blond and scarred, and you got red and scarred. The— Maine was also easy. Tall.

York was a bit harder to remember. He had heard Wash and Carolina talk about him so many times that actually seeing him was… surreal. He had created an image, but York wasn’t it.

The opposite goes for CT. Sure, it was a little weird that he was a she, but he had been told about that a while ago. After that, he has created another image. Which matches CT exactly.

Florida he already knew. Wyoming looked as much of a dick as he sounded. Now, could he get the twins?

North and South. Which was South?

The girl, right? Wash shot one of them, and Simmons was pretty sure that it was South. He was less sure that South was the girl.

But then again, when they talked about North, they had said he, hadn’t they?

Wait, they called North mom. Oh no.

Okay. They probably get this all the time. Which twin are you? Easy.

Wait, no they didn’t. They introduced themselves to others, and they barely talked to anyone outside of Freelancer. Great.

“Lunch!”

Great. Just great.

  
  



	14. Chapter 14

Only two people thought that lunch would go well—no, not even well, only two people thought it’d go  _ okay _ . Those people were Donut and Caboose.

Lunch was watermelon, barbecued ribs, and salad. Since Donut had decided last week that he was vegetarian and Simmons was vegan, their lunches excluded the ribs. Wash had chicken pasta. An extra table had been dragged in at some point, to make sure there was enough space for everyone. 

No more chairs had been added. Simmons stood awkwardly next to where Grif was sitting.

When the last person (Tucker) came in, it was the guy twin who sat forward.

“So,” he started, “what’s happened since Freelancer?”

“Where do you want us to start?” Tucker asked. “Church’s first death, or when Wash came to investigate?”

“Wait,  _ Church _ ’s first death?” York asked. He had decided to sit on the table itself. Simmons comemplated joining him. …Yeah, nope.

“No,” Carolina said. “Start with when Caboose arrived.”

“Oh man,” Tucker said. “Church and I were just standing there, when this kid comes up behind us.”

“The nice lady was there.”

“He tells us that the tank had arrived, so we all go out and look at it. Church mentions his girlfriend, Caboose calls her a slut—“

“Tucker did it.” 

Tucker sighed. “So Church gets annoyed, sends him inside to watch the flag with some bogus story, but he kept coming out to talk to us. Turns out, he only did it twice,  _ Donut  _ was there the third time.” He stopped talking, and Simmons picked up the story.

“Sarge had just left after showing us the warthog—“

“You have a warthog?” Girl-Twin asked. 

“It’s what they call their jeep,” Carolina explained. Girl-Twin nodded.

“Grif wanted to call it a puma, but Sarge doesn’t believe in those—

“Darn right I don’t!”

“—So we went with Warthog. After, he had to leave for something, and then  _ Donut  _ came along.”

A few of the freelancers looked surprised at the amount of malice in the word Donut.

“Anyway, he introduced himself, and we sent him to the store for elbow grease and headlight fluid.”

“Headlight fluid?” CT asked, quirking an eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s a real thing.”

“And we didn’t have a store. But a few minutes later, we’re running out of the base because he has the blue team  _ flag.” _

“Which Caboose had just  _ let _ him take,” Tucker said. “It was a few minutes later when we realized, so Church started firing, but he’s got the worst aim in the galaxy. So he sends me to go through the teleporter, which I did not want to do.”

“He was scared of the black stuff,” Caboose said. 

Tucker sighed again, but continued, “But Church told me either he shoots me, or I go. So I stepped through, and when I got out on the other side, he was already there!”

“I remember that! You thought you went back in time!” Donut said. Damn.

“Anyway, me and Church ended up hiding behind a rock, with Simmons shooting at us.”

“And then  _ Grif  _ made me abandon our position to get them out, which would’ve worked if Caboose didn’t show up with a tank,” Simmons said. He remembered practicing their story during the war, just to make sure that nothing…  _ untrue  _ was told.

Yes, he was talking about Donut telling the soldiers that Blood Gulch involved musical numbers. 

“And he starts firing at the reds! And when he stopped, Church started to tell him he’d done a good job, but then the tank turns around and locks onto him—“

“Tucker did it!”

“—and bye-bye Church’s body.”

“Church’s… body?” Boy-Twin asked.

“Yeah,” Tucker responded. “Five minutes later, I’ve just gotten off the phone with Command, getting them to send us a freelancer, and Church just  _ shows up. _ ”

“He was talking funny,” Caboose said. Tucker nodded.

“And he tells me not to let Texas get involved, but who shows up an hour later? Texas.”

Carolina snorted. “Can’t imagine him trying to stay away.” 

Tucker laughed. That sounded like a story. “Texas gets there, and she’s talking with a voice modifier, so we don’t know who in the heck she is, or even that she’s a she, and all Church had said that she was the reason he never got married, so we let her do her thing.”

“ _ Married _ ?” Boy-Twin looked about to pass out.

“She shot at me a lot,” Caboose added, frowning slightly. ”It took a while before she started being nice.”

“Nice?” Girl-Twin sounded like she was choking down laughter.

Tucker ignored this with the firmness of someone who knew he’d never get done if he didn’t. “And she goes over to red base to kill one to ‘even our odds’ or something, and Church comes back, and we tell him that Tex is here, and he flips. Tells us that we can’t let her leave.”

“Of course he does,” Carolina muttered, her face seemingly unable to decide between fondness and still-remaining bitterness.

“And then she got captured. So Church went over and got her back.”

Simmons picked it up again. “So Grif, Donut, and I are standing out on the roof, and all of a sudden there's a blue, glowing thing stuck to Donut’s helmet.”

There were a variety of quietly surprised realizations around the circle. 

“Ten seconds later, he’s down with a bad case of explosion,” Grif continued, “Simmons faints—“

“I was knocked out!”

“Uh-huh, whatever you say. Either way, we’re down two guys and panicking.”

“Wait.” Tucker held up a hand. “Wasn’t Sarge gone for some reason?”

Grif went still. Simmons snickered, nodding. 

“He came back,” Grif said, not quite a perfect excuse. “Because then he punched me for no reason. He went down to to get Tex, and the next thing we know, Tex is back with the blues, and Sarge has been shot!”

“So Grif gave him gave him  _ CPR, _ ” Simmons said. Again, what was Simmons like originally? “And it  _ worked _ .”

“And then Tex started to fix the tank, which was great, but Church still wanted to delay her, so he tells us that he has to warn the reds about her plan,” Tucker said. “Which didn’t work, because Caboose told her.”

“Tucker did it.”

God, how many times would they hear that?

“But before that could happen,” Grif said. “Sarge finally got Lopez’s—our android’s—speech unit working, but ended up making him only speak  _ Spanish.  _ Fucking  _ Spanish.”  _

Simmons started again. “But then we see the tank coming over, and out of nowhere Donut grabs a grenade and  _ throws  _ it, hitting her.”

“Woah,” Girl-Twin said. “You actually killed Tex?”

“We hoped. She thanked us for getting rid of O’Malley, who had hopped into  _ Caboose, _ ” Tucker said. Guess they were just going to skip over her dying?

“Oh, I remember that,” Caboose said. “Yeah, that wasn’t fun.”

“But then Lopez went missing,” Simmons said, deciding to run with it.

“Because Church possessed him,” Tucker said. “Which was cool, until we realized that we needed to fix the tank still, like, three months later? Maybe? So I told him to activate his repair unit, because he was in Lopez’s body, but he couldn’t. I started looking for a switch, and I found it, but it was in a really weird place.”

Sarge started chuckling. Though he was still wearing his helmet, all of them could feel the grin on his face.

“Eventually he got me to flip it, but then he couldn't feel his legs, and the switch was stuck, and that’s when the reds arrived,” Tucker said. There was a pause.

“Why did we go over there?” Simmons asked. 

“To give back the prisoner!” Sarge said. Then, much more quietly: “I think.”

“Oh yeah,” Tucker said. “We forgot Doc.”

“How did you manage to get a doctor?” Connie asked.

“We didn’t,” Grif said. “We got a medic. Church is the one who nicknamed him Doc.”

“He was a few months late, but he helped Caboose a little, and we used him as a hostage once, to scam the reds,” Tucker said. “So the reds arrived to give him back, Church couldn’t move to turn around, and we had to explain you can’t give back a prisoner.”

“So we left, but then, a few minutes later, the warthog starts beeping,” Simmons continued. “Sarge says it’s just a homing beacon, and there’s no way to activate it, but then it activated.”

“That’s what the beeping was?” Tucker asked.

“Yeah. Doc’s in the seat, and we keep yelling for him to stop, and he almost killed Sarge, but then it got deactivated.” Grif gave Caboose a look. “So he lived.”

It continued for all of lunch. Explaining it all took a while, especially considering there were parts only Caboose had witnessed. By the time the Reds and Blues had explained it all, almost every freelancer looked surprised. 

“So let me get this straight,”  _ South  _ (absolutely definitely South, he was sure) said. “The Alpha A.I. was convinced he was a ghost, was dating the bitchiest freelancer—“

“Pretty sure  _ you’ _ re the bitchiest freelancer,” Wash said. 

She continued, gesturing across the table at him. “He turned into that, and you’ve defied the odds so many times that it seems impossible for you to ever do that again with the same outcome?”

“Basically, yeah,” Tucker said.

“Ok.” South took a breath. “What happens now?”

“We probably should deal with Wyoming and Florida,” Carolina said. Always the voice of reason. “They’re in the attic.”

“I think killing them won’t help,” York said, apparently misinterpreting the phrase ‘deal with.’ Could you blame him, though? It was  _ Carolina.  _ “Won’t they just come back?”

“True,” Wash said. Simmons wondered if he could still kill him, though. “We could give them to the dinosaurs?”

“And risk them pulling a Caboose?” Grif asked. “No way!”

“Pulling a Caboose?” North asked. 

“He tamed them,” Simmons said, then quickly clarified, “the dinosaurs.”

“Why is there still more about you we don’t know about?” Connie asked. “That was kinda meant to be an all encompassing story.”

“We should’ve started with Freelancer, then,” Wash said. Reasonable, but not entirely true. It was meant to be about the Reds and Blues, wasn’t it?

“I don’t like him like this,” South said. “What happened to throwing a grenade and not pulling the pin?”

“Oh, I love this part,” Tucker muttered. 

“Eating the plates? Wondering what happened to Georgia?” North asked. 

“What happened to Georgia?” Simmons asked. 

Connie gestured to him. “See? Grade A rookie behavior.”

“This is the tenth time you brought this up,” Wash said. Did he fucking count? “I know I was easily tricked during Freelancer, but I wasn’t  _ that  _ gullible.”

“You almost wore civilian clothes on a mission!” Carolina said, grinning. 

“You skipped a lecture to pet a cat,” Tucker said. Wash frowned.

“How did you know that?” Wash asked. Tucker burst into laughter.

“Oh my god,” he gasped. “You  _ actually  _ skipped a lecture to pet a cat.”

“Five times,” Wash said, as if this was a perfectly normal thing to do. 

“Five?” South asked, and  _ oh my God he actually did that _ . “You skipped more than that. The Director kept a tally.”

“DC was cute, okay?” Wash asked.

“DC?” Grif asked. Wash nodded.

“Agent Washington DC was a cat,” Carolina explained. “None of us ever figured out why.”

“Wash disappeared for 12 hours once. He didn’t want to move, because DC was on his lap,” York said, grinning from ear to ear. “I’ve never seen someone run to the bathroom so fast.”

“It isn’t  _ my  _ fault Maine put catnip on my shirt,” Wash muttered. 

“You drew on my helmet,” Maine signed. 

“It was  _ pencil, _ ” Wash said, using his hands to emphasize his point. “Two years before that!”

“Yet, he was still bitter,” Carolina said, tilting her head slightly. Wash’s frown deepened.

“Again,” Wash said. “ _ Not  _ my fault.”

“The pencil was,” Simmons supplied. He might not have quite understood Maine’s signing, but he knew pencil was involved, and he wasn’t going to leave a weakness open. Wash glared.

“I do  _ not  _ need you too,” Wash said. Simmons held his hands up.

“Wow,” Connie said sarcastically. “Intimidating.”

“Could you at least  _ attempt  _ to take me seriously?” Wash asked. At least Simmons had found him intimidating.

“Nah,” South said. 

“I killed you!” Wash said.

“And I forgive you,” South answered, nonchalantly. “I’ll probably hold it against you forever, but I forgive you.”

“So it means nothing to any of you that I killed one of you, had to search many of your dead bodies, and have been leading this team for years?”

“Oh, it means a little,” Connie said.

“Not much,” York continued.

“But a little,” North finished.

Wash groaned.

“What else did he do?” Tucker asked, because of course he did.

“No,” Wash said, very suddenly. “I don’t need to hear all about what I did in freelancer.”

Tucker leaned over to North and stage whispered.

“What else did he do?”

“I can  _ hear  _ you.”

North leaned back over.

“One time I convinced him that his A.I. would give him an inverted penis.”

“North Dakota!”


	15. Chapter 15

“Counselor?”

A pause.

“Aiden? No!”

“Ange— what happened?”

“He’s dead! Oh my god!”

“I’m… so sorry, Angie.”

“Don’t call me that. Only he called me that.”

“He was a sociopath, Angelina.”

“Eh.”

“Oh my god, you’re not even  _ crying.” _

“Oh, shut up, Carol.”

  
  


————————————————-

It took them two days to realize there was simply no way that the freelancers could share a room.

York had moved into Carolina’s room, but that was basically the only switch.

“We don’t have the space for all of you to have separate rooms,” Carolina had said, at breakfast.

“Wash sleeps alone,” Connie said.

“Yeah, well, he used to bunk with Caboose, but that didn’t exactly go well,” Tucker said, lying through his teeth. He was an honest man, but sometimes you had to make exceptions. “He  _ measured  _ the blankets.”

“How did you even get a ruler?” Grif asked.

“I made it,” Wash said, a thin, smug smile on his lips.

“Seriously,” Simmons said. “Where?”

“I had it mailed,” Wash said.

“How?” Simmons asked. “I tried for months!”

“I got it teleported.”

“Oh. Wait, that was a joke? How did you really get it here?” Simmons looked like he was getting frustrated. Ongoing joke, perhaps?

“I found it in the woods.”

“How many ways do you have?” Tucker asked, the verge of laughter on his face.

“I could go on for hours,” Wash said. 

“But—“ Simmons said. “But… how? They told me it was against regulations!”

“You’re a sim trooper,” South said.

“South!” North’s head snapped over to look at her.

“They  _ are. _ ”

“Okay, okay, no bunking with Wash,” Connie said. 

“Not that you’d want to,” Wash muttered. Nobody heard him.

“What about Tucker?” North asked. He had been attempting to win him over ever since the kitchen incident. He was still failing.

“He sleeps naked,” Simmons, Grif, Donut, Sarge, Caboose, Carolina, and Wash said in unison.

“Got it,” North said.

“What about you, Caboose?” South asked. “Can someone bunk with you?”

“Uh, yeah, I talk a lot in my sleep.”

“Sings too,” Wash said.

“Tucker did it.”

“At least I can sing good,” Tucker said.

“Not as good as me,” Carolina said.

“Yes,” Simmons said. “You sing so good, Carolina. So, so good.”

“What… what are you talking about?” Connie asked. 

“She sounds like a dying cat?” York responded, giving her a Look.

“Oh!” Connie said, immediately, realization slipping over her features. “Yes. The horrible sound that is Carolina singing.”

“Hey!” Carolina said, holding a hand to her chest. “My feelings.”

“You can’t sing,” North said.

“Every second is torture,” South added.

“What?” Maine signed. “Carolina sings really well. What are you talking—“

His hands faltered a little. Carolina had stepped on his foot.

Lightly.

For Carolina.

“No need to sugarcoat, Maine,” she said. “I know I can’t sing.”

“But—“

“Maine,” Carolina said. “Really. It’s ok.”

“Why do I get the feeling you're hiding something?” Grif asked.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re accusing me of something?” Carolina responded.

“Cause he is,” Tucker said. 

“No, I’m not,” Grif said, defensively. “Carolina’s perfectly… I would say innocent, but would that really be true?”

“At least I didn’t bury my commander alive,” Carolina said. Oh, she did  _ not.  _

“You spent months on a mission to kill your dad  _ and  _ commander!” Simmons said, his voice sounding like it was about to crack. It really wasn’t helping the man.

“Months?” Wash asked incredulously. His whole body turned to look at him, eyebrows going impossibly high, not that they would stop anytime soon. 

“She’d been on that trail for years, Simmons,” Sarge corrected. Tucker knew that the tone he took probably would have been meaner with anyone else, but the “new arrivals” seemed surprised.

“You killed him?” Connie asked. “Like… actually?”

Oh. 

Carolina went very quiet and very still for a long moment. No one spoke.

“He’s dead,” she said. “Actually.”

“Wait,” South said. “He was your  _ dad _ ? God, that’s fucking messed up.”

Huh. People didn’t know? He just assumed that at some point everyone just went, ‘Man, what's her beef?’ and someone responded, ‘that’s her dad.’ Proceed with multiple noises of realization. You know, what they did. 

“Gee, thanks, South,” Carolina said, rolling her eyes.

“Well, it  _ is _ ,” South muttered grouchily. Fair. 

“Alright,” North said. “All of blue base is taken.”

He turned slightly.

“What about red base?”

“Simmons and I bunk together,” Grif said. “So, no.”

“Besides,” Tucker said, “Simmons sings in his sleep. Creepily. With an unloaded shotgun.”

“What?” Connie asked. If she was still reeling at things like that, she had a lot to learn.

“Yeah,” Wash said. “Simmons might be a psychotic killer.”

“Might be?” Grif asked. Tucker agreed.

“I’m  _ not  _ a psychotic killer,” Simmons said, glaring at Tucker. Tucker didn’t stop agreeing. 

“It’s okay,” Donut said. “Just come out and tell us!”

He was about to respond when South started talking.

“Are you going to psychotically kill Grif, Simmons?”

“”No!” both Grif and Simmons responded. South held up her hands.

“Okay,” North said. “What about Sarge?”

“Well, alright,” Sarge said. This was a tad bit confusing, since it was only a suggestion. “You’ll have to be in bed by ten and up by seven.”

North raised his eyebrows. Maybe it was just a freelancer thing?

“Is that the time you get up and go to sleep?” North asked. He actually looked impressed, but Tucker knew that he was soon to be dissapointed.

Sarge started to laugh. “Me? Oh, no. I spend my nights up, and my mornings hoping that dirty blues’ alarm clock will break.”

Heh. No way. He once poured water over it, just to spite Wash, but all it did was make it glow a little. 

North paused thoughtfully. He looked over at Donut, then to Sarge, and seemed to come to a decision.

“Alright. Looks like I’m bunking with Sarge.”

“You’re dead to me,” Tucker said, partially to mess with him, partially because every red is at least a little dead to him.

North gave a deep sigh. Objective Mess With Him, complete.

“Maine could bunk with Donut,” Wash said immediately.

“That’s a great idea, Wash,” Carolina said, and damn, if his lamp lit up like that, they would have a power outage.

Maine made a closing motion with three fingers. “No.”

“Oh, I’d just  _ love  _ to have someone else to keep me company at night!” Donut exclaimed. Maine sighed.

“Sorry, buddy,” Wash said. “It’s the only way.”

“Liar,” Tucker muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” Tucker said, as innocently as he could manage. Wash didn’t seem to buy it. 

“No, I think I heard a reminder to make you run drills later,” Wash said.

“Do that later,” South said, shoving her arm in between them. “Where am I bunking?”

Wash and Carolina gave each other a look.

“What is it?” Connie asked.

“Well, there are two of you…” Wash said.

“And a whole room. Bow-chicka-bow-wow.”

Wash sighed.

“No,” South said. “No!”

“I’m bunking with her?” Connie asked. “Miss at-least-us-ladies-have-each other?”

“Oh, come on,” South said, with an “I’m-not- _ that _ -bad” voice. 

“It’ll be fine,” Carolina claimed. “You’ll figure it out.”

“I doubt it,” North muttered.

“I think North just volunteered for drills,” Tucker said, smirking. Hey, he’s always one for extra credit.

“That’s great,” Wash said. “You can do them together.”

“What?” Tucker asked. Shit. 

“He can apologize for coming into your kitchen, and you need to just run drills.”

“Okay,” South said, dragging out the ‘o’. “Maybe Wash is fun like this.”

No, he isn’t. Not at all. He’s a horrible commander who likes torture and public humiliation. 

“Took years of trauma and practice,” he said, finger gunning.

God, would they even last a month?

  
  
  



	16. Chapter 16

They lasted until the end of the day, at least. 

It took a couple hours to move everyone’s stuff, but it was done by dinner.

Nice, a little alliteration.

But there was still a dilemma.

“What are we going to do with Florida and Wyoming?”

“They can starve,” Tucker responded. He really needed to calm down.

“Okay,” Wash said. “That is an option. Unlikely, but an option.”

Hey, it’s not like he could just say no.

“Oh!” York said, his face lighting up. “Why don’t we give them a boat with limited energy and just… set them off?”

“That’s…” Carolina said, frowning slightly. “A good idea. Let’s do that.”

“Tomorrow,” Grif said.

“Tomorrow.”

——————————————————

Music.

“Did you seriously put tear drops into your eyes?”

“Carol, shut up. We are at a funeral.”

“We are literally the only two people here.”

“And yet, you are causing such a disturbance.”

“Angie, oh my God, did the coffin just open?”

“What the fuck?”

“Oh my God, is he fucking alive? He got shot! He bled to death!”

“Oh. Oooh. Sorry, Carol. My fault. Just a hologram.”

“I liked to suck dicks.”

_ SLAM _

“Angie?”

“Yes?”

“Never apologize for something like that again.”

——————————————————

The next day, they pulled Wyoming and Florida out of the attic, placed them into a boat, and told them never to come back.

No one said anything, but they all saw how their bodies had slowly gotten closer. 

It was good, though. Rooms were figured out, Wyoming and Florida were taken care of, Wash made Tucker run drills with North every day…

There was a  _ slight  _ problem, though. Everyone was fucking bored out of their minds.

So, that breakfast, it was the conversation starter.

“What are we going to do now?” South asked. “You guys are completely cut off, and the rest of us are dead.”

“Do not complain about having nothing to do,” Grif warned, suddenly very active in the conversation. “Something will happen. Just wait.”

“Come  _ on, _ ” Connie said, looking annoyed. She had her foot propped up on the bench, and was leaning against South. Guess  _ they  _ figured things out. Maine was still glaring at Wash. “We haven’t done anything for forever. Where’s the stealing? Where’s the fighting?”

“Where’s the heavy manipulation of and experimentation on young adults?” Carolina said, mimicking Connie’s tone.

“But this would be on our  _ own  _ terms, no one else’s,” South said.

“It would feel nice,” North said, though he still looked hesitant. “Breaking and entering. Stealing from thieves.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re on vacation,” Tucker said. “For life.”

“You can’t seriously plan on staying here your whole life?” South said, because, well, he couldn’t. As much as she hated to say it, she missed the whole freelancer gig. Sure, the Project turned out to be corrupt, manipulative, and controlling (not to mention the shit they did to her and North’s relationship) but now… they could take the “being badass, helping people” part for themselves. And maybe even actually help people in the process.

“Yes, we can be,” Grif said. “We saved a planet from genocide. We took down Freelancer. We deserve a break.”

“We died,” Connie said, seemingly thinking this was a major hardship. Pft. Dying was easy.

“One mission,” South begged. “Nothing big. It’ll be fun.”

Wash and Carolina shared a look. 

“One mission,” Wash agreed.

“Great,” Grif muttered, accepting defeat. “Just great.”

———

“Nothing big, she said.” He ducked, shielding himself from the bullets. “It’ll be fun, she said.”

“How was I supposed to know I’d get caught?” South asked over the radios. Wash popped up to fire, not bothering to wait for the body to drop before ducking again. “Besides, we’re doing fine.”

“ _ I’m  _ doing fine,” Carolina said, as she leaned around the edge of her and Wash’s barricade to aim. “You are going to get shot.”

“Not necessarily by the people shooting at us,” Wash muttered darkly. He rolled to another hiding spot, leaning down to see if he could somehow get the team out  _ without _ dying. 

“Aw, come on,” South said. “A little blood pumping is good for your heart.”

“And joints,” Connie commented. She was the one currently in possession of the target, hauling it out through the vents. Wash decided that those not being shot at didn’t have valid opinions on being shot at.

“Pretty sure breaking your knees and getting shot at isn’t good for you.”

“You’re taking it out of context,” North said. He had decided that he was fully in support of this on the way here.

“Is this really how you guys talk during missions?” Grif yelled. At least he was still against it. “We’re getting shot at here!”

“And we’re dealing with that,” South said, calmly. Well, calmly for South. So mostly smug-sounding.

“Want to get donuts after this?” York asked. Wash saw Carolina roll over to where he was.

“God, yes,” Grif replied.

“You realize he’s manipulating you?” Simmons asked. They were across the courtyard from Wash, which meant that he had a clear view as Simmons stopped shooting to stare at Grif’s response.

“Who cares? They’re fucking donuts, Simmons. I’d trade manipulation over hunger any day.”

“…Course you would,” Simmons muttered. He resumed trying not to die. 

Wash took a deep breath, surveying the whole of their battlefield. It clicked.

“I got it,” he exclaimed. “Connie, find your way out of the vents to where South is; go around behind them. You’re the target.”

“I mean, already headed there, but, uh, how am I the target?” Connie asked. 

Wash rolled his eyes. “I’ll explain later. The rest of you… just get to the door without going behind them.”

This, apparently, was a  _ terrible  _ thing to say. Sure, twenty minutes later they were halfway back to their moon, but it happened after utter chaos had erupted.

In the end, they were halfway out of the remaining ammunition, two walls had been destroyed, and Tucker had lost his helmet.

Well, really, Carolina had lost her helmet and then stolen Tucker’s as soon as he wasn’t going to probably die without it, but that wasn’t anybody’s business. Nor was it what they needed to focus on, currently at least.

“We are  _ never  _ doing this again,” Wash ordered. Connie sighed, her limbs splaying every possible direction. For such a small woman, she really did take up a lot of space.

“C’mon, Wash,” Connie said. South was grinning at her. He was getting attacked, wasn’t he? “It was  _ one  _ mistake.”

“Um, actually, it was, uh, 27,” Caboose said. At least he had Wash’s back. It was nice sometimes, to know that even if all your long dead friends were attacking you, Caboose always had your back.

“So it was twenty seven,” South said, waving her hand. “We’re rusty! We haven’t been in combat for years!”

“You were dead!” Wash said. Damnit, he was responding. How were they so good at this?

“Like you weren’t too,” Connie said, snorting slightly. “You just had it mentally.”

“Yeah, but—“

“And  _ you  _ got to be in combat,” York reasons. Not another one.

“Stick to not running us into a meteorite,” Wash snapped. Not meanly, but in the way you would speak to a friend when calling them stupid.

“Hey,” Carolina’s voice sounded over the comms from the other ship. “Are you making fun of Wash without me?”

“Yes—“ Wash started to say, before he caught the end of her question. “Hey!”

“Yeah, sorry, ‘Lina,” Connie said. “You know we can’t resist.”

“Twenty minutes,” Wash growled, articulating every sound. “Twenty minutes and I can go back into my room.”

“Caroliiiiina,” South whined into the comm, drawing out the ‘i.’ “Wash’s being angsty and antisocial again!”

Wash groaned, putting his head into his hands. ‘Just  _ one  _ day.’

“Agent Washington!” Carolina reprimanded, barely joking. “You know we have a strict rule on angst and asociality.”

In the background, Simmons’ voice could be heard, just barely.

“We do? Damn. I’ve been breaking that rule for years.”

“Shut up, Simmons,” Carolina said. He knew it was impossible, but Wash swore he could  _ hear  _ Simmons holding his hands up.

South poked his face, leaning over. She was squinting, a judgy, suspicious look crafting her features. 

“You listenin’, Wash?” she asked. Wash wanted to breath into her eyes, but he was mature. He was a leader. “No angst and avoidance. Them’s the rules.”

“ _ You _ are not the maker of rules,” Wash corrected for her, though he knew she wouldn’t like it. “I am, because I’m the leader, and I say leaders get as much angst and asociality as they want.”

He realized too late that he had been trapped before he even said that, but he regretted it as soon as South flung herself back, stretching out her arms with a wide grin.

“He admits it!” she cheered. Wash wondered if it was possible to groan too much. “The mighty maker of rules admits it!”

“Oh, shut up,” Wash said, trying not to smile. He’d gotten quite good at that. 

“Nope,” York said. He glanced back from the driver's seat, only to get a crumpled paper thrown at him. “Shit! The hell, Wash?”

“You deserve it.”


	17. Chapter 17

A week after the mission, it seemed that nobody was getting any sleep.

Well. Tucker was. Wash was trying. (Keyword there.) Caboose was perfectly cool. Carolina looked a little bit worse, but not much. York seemed to be fine except for the heavy circles under his eyes, and the fact that he’d been caught talking to the potted plants like they were people.

But everyone, and Tucker means  _ everyone _ , else looked like they had been going off of two hours of sleep for the whole week.

Tucker would get the Freelancers and their bunkmates, but Grif and Simmons didn’t even share a room with anyone. It didn’t make sense.

Until Simmons found Tucker alone, and asked him for soundproofing.

Of course, Tucker got it immediately, but hey, he had a job.

“Whoa,” he answered. “So that’s why you look like pre-health Wash. You and Grif fi—“

“No, it’s not that.” You know it’s bad when Simmons isn’t even awake enough to blush. “It’s that North and Maine have nightmares, loud ones. And when I start hearing the Meta’s freaky growls in the middle of the night…”

“Ah. That type of soundproofing.” ‘ _ There are no “types” in soundproofing, Tucker,’  _ said the Caboose voice in his head. “Yes, yes, right this way.”

As they started to walk towards where the supplies were, Simmons decided to use the time to bitch about his sleep schedule.

“I don’t know how you managed with Wash before here. They are so fucking loud,” Simmons complained. Tucker was barely listening. “And then we get up in the morning and deny everything! They all need, like, serious therapy.”

Tucker stopped. That was the best idea he had ever heard from Simmons.

Next thing either of them knew, he was running down the hall, hand waving behind him, yelling his thanks.

“What about the soundproofing?” Simmons yelled, but Tucker was already rounding the corner, and almost crashing into it.

“Later, Simmons!”

  
  


Now, of course, Tucker immediately wanted this call Grey and set up an appointment, but something stopped him.

It was the fact that he still needed to work something out.

Ever since they had stopped Felix and Locus, maybe even before, Wash didn’t really mention drills. It was more of a distant memory they would sometimes make fun of. That’s what Tucker thought Wash was doing when he had been trying to hide York. But as more and more Freelancers showed up, and the more and more Wash kept ordering Tucker to do drills, the harder it had been to convince himself of the joke. Tucker had wondered and thought, and it just didn’t make sense.

Which led him to the here and the now, as Tucker knocked on the door.

Wash opened it, as predicted. 

“Oh, Tucker,” Wash said, blinking slightly. “Come in.”

Wash turned sideways to let Tucker through, closing the door after he entered. They used to do this all the time on Chorus, actually. After long days, one might just collapse on the other’s couch, or easy days, where they would plan and train. After they got here, it didn’t happen as often. Not because they had stopped talking or anything, but because Wash just hadn’t been in his room as much. Besides, Tucker didn’t need to pass out on someone’s couch anymore, and Wash didn’t need to fight until he dropped.

“What is it?” Wash asked, following Tucker to where they sat down on his bed, Tucker cross legged and facing Wash, who looked straight ahead. Everything went out the window. No “clear talking,” no “unresolved issues,” and definitely no “tact.” So much for monologuing. 

Because as soon as Wash had asked, Tucker told him.

“Iwanttosetuptherapyforallofthefreelancers,” Tucker said, not even trying to breathe. Wash’s head jerked to face him, looking stunned for about two seconds, before he sighed.

“Say it again,” he ordered, “more breathing.”

“I want to set up therapy for all of the Freelancers,” Tucker reiterated. “It'll be with Grey!”

He didn’t know if that made it worse or better. Wash’s face didn’t tell him much either.

“I really don’t like the idea,” Wash said, after a pause. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “But it may be for the best. Especially if the Reds and Blues are there.”

“What?” Tucker didn't really hear the last part for a second. It was a rapid change in topic, after all. “I’m not going to therapy.”

“It’s with Grey?”

“Oh, shut up,” Tucker told him, shoving Wash a little. “We both don’t know how that affects it.”

“That’s true,” Wash noted, but didn’t continue. They sat there, comfortably silent, for who knows how long, before Tucker chose to break it.

“I’m going to call her.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Right now. As soon as I leave this room.”

“Do. Not.”

Tucker stood up, grinning.

“Too late. Already up. Can’t fight it.”

“You know she’ll drag you into this.”

“It’s a risk I’ll take.”

Wash shook his head, mumbling something about “crazy.” Tucker pointedly ignored him, getting up to go.

But he had to walk past Wash to get to the door, and as he did, Wash grabbed his wrist. He looked down at him, always startled at the sight of Wash’s face looking up at his. Despite it only really being an inch of height difference, their respective postures and Wash’s usual… not confidence, necessarily, but  _ decisiveness _ made it seem like more, but this was different. He wasn’t even standing. 

He looked vulnerable, just then, the scars making him look less ‘cool badass’ and more ‘worn-out and damaged.’ “I— _ We _ , us Freelancers. We’ve got more than a few issues with people who are supposed to be there for our mental health. We were  _ experiments _ , Tucker, and not by choice. I’ll come, but you can’t make anyone.”

“I won’t,” Tucker promised. He had backed up, sat back down, and full on faced him. Wash was still holding his wrist. “And I won't make you do it by yourself, okay?”

Their hands slipped, and just for a moment, they were holding each other. Tucker squeezed, and let go.

And as soon as the door closed behind him, he made to call Dr. Grey.

  
  
  


“Oh, hello! I just  _ hope  _ you’re calling for unimportant reasons!” Good fucking God, did her voice get even _ higher _ ?

“It’s Tucker,” he said. There wasn’t even a pause before she responded.

“Well, Captain, I would think that you didn’t get into any trouble you couldn’t fix yourself!” Grey said. It took Tucker to realize what she had meant.

“Oh, nobody's hurt!” Tucker assured, trying his hardest not to sound scared. “I wanted to set up an appointment.”

“Why ever would you do that?” Grey asked. Tucker sighed. “You are as repressed as embarrassing memories to the weak minded!”

“Some… old friends have come back to town, and really need to talk out their issues,” Tucker told her, ignoring the last part of her claim. “So I’m setting it up for them.”

“And I imagine you and the rest of your friends are coming too?” Grey asked. Tucker tried to object, he really did, but it died in his throat. “Because everyone there needs it, and I’ve already checked the box. I’ll see you tomorrow at two P.M.  _ Don’t  _ be late!”

- _ Click _ -

‘ _ Great _ ,’ Tucker thought. ‘ _ Just great _ .’


	18. Chapter 18

_ Telling  _ the freelancers (and now the Reds and Blues) about their new therapy appointment proved to be… difficult. 

As in, Tucker stayed up half the night trying to figure out a strategy that made sure everyone would get the message and actually have a chance to consider their decision, especially since it was a several hour trip to Chorus. Eventually, he settled on the plainest option: don’t tell them until they’re in the great void of outer space already, and therefore can’t turn it around.

Which then felt really creepy and manipulative, and he’d promised Wash he wouldn't force anyone, so he spent another half hour tossing around how to figure that part out. Finally, he decided on what he’d say, and, still unable to sleep, got up to start making snacks and lunches for tomorrow. 

Maybe, he thought, walking barefoot through the halls, if he finished early enough he could actually do something cool for breakfast.

Then he heard the clattering in the kitchen. And the—very muffled—swearing. And saw the light under the door.

He swung it open, and North looked up at him guiltily.

“Dude. What the  _ fuck _ are you doing in my kitchen?”

“Uh.” He gestured to the ingredients carefully laid out the counter. “Night baking?”

For someone so badass, he certainly seemed like a helpless puppy, crouched over the toppled pans. 

“You washed your hands?”

“Yes.” North seemed insulted at the implication he wouldn’t. Good.

“You’ll wash your pans?”

He blinked, and then grinned. “Yeah.”

“Cool. Whatever that is, it better be good, because it’s breakfast tomorrow.”

Tucker walked right past where North stood, stunned, and dug into the fridge to check for sandwich components. Satisfied, he turned around to wash up and find his apron.

Tucker was three sandwiches in before North looked up from the dough he was making and found his voice. “What’s that?”

Tucker smirked. “Night sandwiches.”

“Well, yeah, but—“

“We’re headed out tomorrow. I won’t have time to make lunch.”

“What? Why?  _ Where _ ?”

“We need to be on Chorus by half past one. I have an… appointment, I guess. Not that everyone else can’t come, too. And we need to get some supplies anyway, so I figured we’d just move the two together, let all you Freelancers check out the wider world of the modern day.”

“…Did you mention this to anyone else?”

“Nah, but it”s cool.”

“You’re sure?”

_ No _ . “Yeah.”

  
  


Apparently, North didn’t mention this to anyone else, because when morning came, there was a limit on whispers. He had stayed until morning in the kitchen, North baking whatever it was he was baking, and Tucker making lunch. The freelancer had tried, time and time again, to make conversation, but Tucker had decided that he was  _ not  _ going to engage. 

“So… what type of appointment?”

“Therapy.”

“Oh.”

Repeat cycle. Tucker had heard about North, he had heard about all of them, but honestly? Wash and Carolina had a skewed view. This did not look like a risky, self-sacrificing, sister-controlling man. 

And the only reason he was thinking about this, was because Tucker was avoiding the topic of…

Oh, hey, Wash!

“I swear, Connecticut, if you don’t get away from that coffee machine in the next five seconds I will plow right into you.” Connie held up her hands, and backed away from the coffee machine. 

“Oh, sorry Mister Washington, didn’t mean to touch your precious coffee machine,” Connie said in a mocking tone, and South snickered. Wash didn’t seem amused, for good reason. The man had yet to have caffeine. As he poured his coffee, South came up and poked him, apparently urged on by Connie. This would’ve been a good idea, if it wasn’t Wash, who was holding hot coffee when South poked him. 

...which made him spill the coffee.

…onto South.

“Shit! Ow!” South cried, jumping back from Wash. She started to shake her arm, spraying the coffee everywhere and doing little to help, as Wash put down his mug, and rushed into the kitchen, past Tucker, to the freezer.

“Damn, not even 8:00 and you already managed to burn someone.” Wash turned to glare at him as he took out the ice pack.

“I don’t need coffee for that,” Wash said. It was somewhere in between a threat and a boast. Tucker didn’t know how to explain it, but he knew that it was the kind of thing that would’ve scared him before Chorus. Now it just made him snort.

Luckily, he didn’t have to form a verbal response, because Wash was already placing the ice pack on South’s arm. He had done similar things to Caboose before, (and Tucker, and Simmons, and—) so they tended to keep the ice pack cold and ready. Her expression seemed to soften a little at the cold (which would help the pain but wouldn’t make it heal faster), before she swatted Wash off to hold it herself. In response, Wash picked up his coffee and went to sit at the table, his eyes the pre-caffeine void of a tried and true coffee addict.

Of course, the ending of this act, brought on Tucker. Why couldn’t South have exited, pursued by a bear? 

Tucker glanced at the clock. 7:45. Had Wash gotten up early?

Then again, the man was terrible with time.

(“I like to wake up 45 minutes before breakfast.”

“Don’t you wake up at 7:30?”

“I, uh, yes?”)

Oh, what a day that had been. He still did that from time to time. It was rather funny. 

7:47, thirteen minutes. He glanced at North, sprinkling powdered sugar on certain plates. What even  _ was  _ that?

Tucker walked over, realized North’s shoulder was way too high for him to look over, so he stood there for a while, looking at his back. When North turned around, he was met with Tucker, barely five inches away from him, and looking up expectantly. He jumped.

“What did you make?” Tucker asked, hoping to God the others didn’t see him and poke holes in his terrorizing of North. “It better be good.”

“I, uh, made some upside down cakes.” North held them up. They didn’t seem as cheery without the pineapple, but that was okay. Not that North needed to know that.

“For breakfast?” He frowned like he actually cared. Honestly, after the year he’d spent living off of sugar and instant noodles alone, he’d given up on organizing things into breakfast or lunch or dinner or dessert or whatever. And besides, it wouldn’t hurt to have everyone in a good mood given the shit he was gonna pull today.

“Yes?” North asked, just as Carolina (since when was she here?) seemed to notice them. She started to walk over, and Tucker knew he had limited time.

Better than telling them about therapy.

“Fine. Just—“

“Hey, Tucker,” Carolina said, sliding an arm over his shoulders, something that either meant, A. Carolina was barely thinking straight and/or couldn’t physically support herself and this was a show of trust, or B. you needed to be treading lightly.

Tucker didn’t need three guesses which one it was. He was very close to losing his authority.

“Watcha doing?” Carolina asked, glancing to where North was holding his pineapple-less upside down cakes.

“Just making sure breakfast is in order,” Tucker said, stiffly. He could feel his dignity slowly being picked apart. It did not help that it was  _ very loud where South was complaining about her burnt ha— _

“Well, that’s good,” Carolina said, with a very nice smile that Tucker chalked up to karma. “And what's North doing?”

Couldn’t even  _ think  _ in peace, huh?

“I’m just putting the closest we have to powdered sugar on upside down cakes,” North said, and Tucker started to get nervous. Carolinas hand was still on his shoulder, and North was starting to joke.

Sure, Tucker knew his whole “I am scary” thing wouldn’t have lasted forever, just as Wash’s hadn’t, but he had been willing to make it last at least one ever.

“Good, good,” Carolina said. Goddamnit, did she just enjoy physchological torture or something?

Tucker glanced at the clock, hoping against fucking hope, and for a second Tucker believed in God.

_ 7:59 _

“Well?” Tucker asked, because he had actual ground to. “Put it on the table.”

North seemed surprised, but he started away.

Carolina has lost her chance to torture him, because in a few seconds it was his turn to do it to himself.

_ 8:00 _

“Breakfast!”

  
  
  


For purposes such as: certain dead fathers, unkillable (not really) therapists (also not really), and other dark forces not finding out, the reds and blues (and undecided) will not be disclosing how to tell ex-freelancers and a bunch of emotionally repressed idiots (and those amongst them who are both) that they will be attending a therapy appointment that same day without dying. You know, for safety.

But, through undisclosed ways, Tucker was still alive when they made the trip to Chorus. He’d even managed to convince most of them that this was a good idea (with some help from… well, mostly from Wash).

Dylan Andrews was a witness, along with Jax Jonez.

When she saw the ship coming in, she leaned over to the nearest soldier, grasping their arm and their attention.

“Who is that?” she asked, pointing it out. The ship was nicer than anything she’d seen since hitting the planet. State-of-the-art, made for multiple trips, and for not.. a lot.. of people?

“Woah,” the soldier said. They didn’t respond, instead turning to the next soldier over and instructing her to “Alert Kimball! And whoever else is on the way!”

The soldier stood, awestruck, and then ran off.

Dylan refused to get annoyed that, as her first really viable lead seemed to be arriving, no one was able to be bothered to give a shit. Really. She wasn’t annoyed that just as this seemed to be going anywhere, everyone was clamming up. 

“Who is that?” Dylan asked again. She would guess it was the people she was looking for, but she needed to be sure. 

“That’s the reds and blues, Miss!” Soldier #1 said, their voice on the edge of gushing level. “You can tell by the paint on the side.”

Oh. She guessed she should’ve noticed the various stripes of red, blue, and purple where it looked to have mixed.

She let go of the soldier’s arm, watching them sprint off for parts unknown. It made sense, given that this was Chorus.

“Jax, start rolling,” Dylan said. “This is our shot.”

But, unfortunately, it was a shot they missed.

They did  _ see  _ the reds and blues. Dylan even saw that there were other people in the group. But they all rushed off somewhere before she could talk to them. She didn’t give up, though, especially when she saw them going towards the medical ward, where most of them went in…

Except for Grif, recognized by her limited knowledge of what Grif looked like, and two women, which made her question if it was really Grif. 

She had approached, but they had soon started walking away, which had been very, very annoying.

She walked after them, passing many people who decided her armor was something to stare at, for a while. Given the whole “pretty much our entire population was embroiled in a civil war until recently, and armor was worn twenty four-seven during that period” thing, she didn’t think someone who needed consistent quarantine due to allergies would stand out that much, but apparently she was wrong. Once, she had seen them stop, but had been pulled aside to be questioned for her ‘fashion’ “choice”. God, she hated her life.

After a while, she saw them looking back. Only on occasion, and only for a second. 

They also had gone through  _ hell _ for whatever they were looking for.

Through alleys, up walls, secret tunnels. It was taking hours of her time.

…hours before she realized they knew she was following them. 

“They know we’re following them,” Jax said. Dylan glared. With a helmet on.

“Yeah, I know,” she answered.

“I think they’re kinda trained in not letting us catch them.”

“I know.”

“And they probably are discussing strategies on how to fight us.”

“I know.”

“And we’re making a big circle to where the rest of them—“

“Jax!” Dylan cut off. “I know!”

They were silent for a second, as Dylan’s ears caught up with her brain.

“Wait, what did you just say?” Dylan said. Jax took a breath, apparently to repeat his statement, when she looked up to where Grif and the other two had been.

Now, standing in front of her, there was a whole damn rainbow of color-coded clothing, and a mass of varying people, a good few of which didn’t match her files on the Reds and Blues. 

But right before Dylan Andrews could speak, or do anything, a single command was uttered, and it was unanimously followed by the teams, and it made her hate her life (and hate that she loved her job) even more.

“Run.”


End file.
